


Mark of a Double Q

by Titlark



Series: Mark of a Civilization [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anniversary, Dystopia, Eventual Relationships, M/M, Multi, Old Married Couple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Racism, Reunions, Revolution, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 63,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22332535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titlark/pseuds/Titlark
Summary: There was no one who wouldn't know what happened on planet Queen during the Great Revolution. The evil Institute had been defeated, its leaders punished, and connection with Earth renewed. Astronauts Brian May and John Deacon rightfully considered their mission completed and started living their new lives with the men they loved.Now, fifty years later, Brian and Roger realize that not only their happily-ever-after but their very lives have to be fought for once again. Danger comes from many sides, including a mysterious secret organisation called Double Q.Sequel to "Mark of a Civilization"
Relationships: Ben Hardy/Gwilym Lee, Brian May/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Freddie Mercury
Series: Mark of a Civilization [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442875
Comments: 154
Kudos: 112





	1. Living On My Own

Everyday occurrence and yet... magnificent, Gwilym thought, stopping in his tracks just to stare out of the window. It had to be around four in the afternoon when Alba descended enough for her white light to mirror itself on the shiny glass and metal of a skyscraper across the street. The whole district, filled with these majestic monuments, lit up like a great silver fire, power of nature meeting the symbols of human domination. 

The people somewhere there, down below, they almost seemed like a different world, filling the streets with their cars or strolling down the pavements among the few pieces of green. They made a river that flew between the tall silver-grey office buildings of the Queen City centre. From here you could imagine that this was all there was, yet, behind its borders the city went on and on and on, through all the different quarters until it just ended in a wide, quiet desert.

Far, far away, somewhere in the dunes when the clouds of sand laid low, one could see the top of the famous Deaky Transmitter.

“Lee! Have you died on the way here or you actually plan on bringing that file?”

With a jolt, Gwilym turned from the window just to meet the stare of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, a well-built man in his late forties whose expensive suit and accessories showed an Earth heritage. 

Gwilym hurried all over the large modern office with a fluffy grey carpet to his employer’s massive black desk.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he attempted an apologetic smile while laying out the documents. “I completely... spaced out.”

“You’re lucky your little grandma ensures I can’t fire you,” the minister grumbled and looked over the papers, “fucking Queenie...”

Gwilym swallowed. “Actually, my father-”

“Lee,” the man looked up in clear annoyance, “do I look like I care?”

“No, you don’t, sir.”

“Very well. Now,” he said and tapped his ringed finger against the desk, “the City committee should be handling everything about the celebrations as such, and as for a security, general Singer decided to oversee that personally. Everything else goes through internal affairs. Basically, our only problem – only two problems,” he chuckled at his own joke, “are May and Taylor.”

Gwilym tried to supress his giddiness and act professional. “I arranged everything with the Atkins Airport, right after we got the confirmation that QSS guided their ship to the orbit. They say everybody arrived alive and well.”

“Let the airport know we need the highest possible privacy,” the minister said. “There’ll be a screaming crowd, journalists and a right apocalypse in the streets, we can’t help that, but Singer will have my balls if the first thing the two grandpas see upon arrival is corpses of those who crawled on their runway.”

“Isn’t it amazing that they come?” Gwilym blurted out without thinking and his face lit up. “Like actually here? Here on Queen?”

“Yeah, fantastic,” the minister didn’t share the enthusiasm. “So, the airport. I don’t want any incidents,” he looked up, “of any kind. Beginning with fans and ending with those lunatics from Double Q. You might know something about those?” he added with a smirk.

Gwilym reddened. “Sir, I really... don’t. But, sir – I thought the security goes under general. You said so.”

“That means if it works, the credit is his, and if it goes down the crapper, we’re fucked,” the minister scowled. “I won’t risk anything.”

“But... I mean, it’s them,” Gwilym pointed out. “Nobody would dare-”

“Shut up, Lee.”

“Yes, sir.”

“By the way – somebody leaked it to the press, we got an echo,” he waved one of his papers, “so get ready for the standard procedure.”

“No information?”

“No comments,” the minister got up and Gwilym quickly made a respectful step back, getting a second glance. “And when you finish your work today, you can go.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

It actually took several hours before Gwilym finally left the building, and the weak, red light of Almira illuminated the streets in a kind a of foreboding way – at least foreboding for those not used to it. Gwilym grew up here.

His heart silently danced with joy upon the upcoming days. He gets to see them, face-to-face see them. How strange it is to realize that men learned about in every school, men whose portraits hang in every official building across the planet, are real, meat and bones, and getting closer every second? There wasn’t a child on Queen who wouldn’t know their fantastic story. Fathers of the modern age, as Gwilym’s high-school teacher used to say.

He just headed to his car, his mind still hidden in the pink, giddy bubble, when his phone rang.

“Yes, hello, grandma?” Gwil didn’t dare to sigh, but this was inconvenient. “Yes, of course... No, just finished... going out, actually... what do you mean where, just out!... my friends... No, I’m not needlessly cryptic, I just... yeah... that might take a while... you want me- when do you actually sleep?... No, of course, I’ll be there. Looking forward! Bye!”

Quickly, he tapped his phone, checked boxes in the back of his car, hopped behind the wheel and drove into the traffic. He knew he was late.

In two minutes, he got out of the city centre and drove further and further east. There was an area populated by those not lucky enough to be born into the right families and had no legal ways how to improve their status. Queenies lived, worked and died in the dingy suburbs of Queen City where nothing could be further away from the shiny majesty of the government buildings.

Gwilym swallowed, knowing he and his elegant car stuck out like a sore thumb. He could be one of them, his heritage would certainly point to it. But thanks to his grandmother’s influence and father’s status, he got to the most prestigious schools, and even studied law at the First Earth University. And got the job at the ministry.

I was lucky, he reminded himself. But his heart clenched.

The road got bumpier the closer he got to the back streets, and Gwilym was honestly glad his car stayed in one piece. Finally, he pulled over to his destination, and gratefully parked. The building was grey, run-down and not different from all the others, except for a red neon cat and a proud name “Cool Cat” in a decorative font flickering above the entrance. The lights were already weak.

Gwilym entered and had to beam upon the familiar smell of crowd, booze, and a rock music booming above his head.

“Gwilym!” an old woman waved from behind the bar. “I was getting worried!”

The air was buzzing with hundreds of different conversations, laughter and even singing along with the beat. Gwilym elbowed his way to the bar.

“Hey, Belle,” he smiled and kissed both wrinkled cheeks, trying not to smudge the thick layer of powder, “you know what they say – better late than never.”

“Your usual?”

“Please. Where’s Rami?”

“Back there with Adam,” Belle explained and jerked her shoulder towards the only door behind the bar, “you missed the show. Here you are.”

Gwilym gratefully accepted his tall glass took a sip. “I need to talk to him later, got three boxes in the car.”

“He’ll take them,” the old woman nodded, and her sharp grey eyes met his. “What’d you have?”

“Pears, oranges, painkillers, bandages,” he shrugged in a sort of apology, “not much.”

“It’ll do,” Belle gave him a soft crooked smile, “it has to. And we’re really thankful.” 

Gwilym felt a warm wave of gratitude and sipped on his drink. Not that this secret activity was illegal, but he knew authorities wouldn’t be very pleased to learn he spent his evenings smuggling expensive goodies bought in Earth shops. It would tip his already shaky balance.

“It’s the last one for a while though,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I...”

“Gwilym,” Belle took his hand over the desk, “it’s alright. We’re always happy to see you here, no matter what you bring. You’re one of us.”

“Not the way Rami is...,” Gwilym sighed.

At the very moment the very man in question stuck his black-haired head out of the staff door. 

“Belle, do you think we should- oh!” Rami’s face lit up when he spotted his friend at the bar. “Gwil! Here you are, being a bad, bad boy again!”

“Nice seeing you out of prison,” Gwil deadpanned, but his lips twitched, “again. How are you?”

Rami chuckled and cheerfully hopped on the bar, feet dangling in the air. “You know me. The children are still little devils, my pocket still empty, my opinions still uncomfortable, the police still everywhere and for some reason, my mother still disappointed. Life’s good.”

“You better sit down like a normal person, or I join her club,” Belle murmured, and Rami immediately obeyed, taking a tall chair next to Gwilym instead. 

“I took the boxes to the cellar,” he whispered, “and confiscated five oranges. How much for those?”

Gwilym quickly shook his head. “Leave it.”

“Gwil, come on!”

“Seriously, leave it. I grabbed them on a discount, so there’s no-”

Rami clicked his tongue. “You’ll never be a successful dealer with that attitude.”

“That’s not my intention,” Gwilym sighed and hypnotised the last remnants of foam in his glass. “I just wish I had the courage to do what you did.”

Rami snorted. “Yeah, right. Belle, could you get us two more, please? My treat.”

Two more drinks were there in an instant, and the old bartender quickly left to pick up glasses from other tables, elbowing her way through the crowd and swaying her hips in the beat of the background music.

For a moment, Gwilym’s stare lingered on her. Wrinkled face covered with powder, bright lipstick, grey hair tied up in a strict bun, worn-out black dress covered by an equally terrible loose jumper, and a cherry on the top, padded slippers. Combined with her hunched back and shaky hands it would make people underestimate this unlikely owner of the Cool Cat bar, but Gwilym had personally witnessed how the lady single-handedly tackled a groping drunkard, throwing him out on the street, threatening to “bite off his shrivelled sweaty balls if he shows his arse in here again”. She ruled her kingdom with an iron fist.

“Planning a date?” Rami quipped. “She seems to be your type.”

“Oh, piss off,” Gwilym chuckled and playfully hit his friend’s shoulder. “How old is she anyway?”

“Who knows? Two hundred? Three?”

“Don’t be rude. She can hear that and never let Lucy out with you. Eeeeever again, my friend. And that would be the ultimate tragedy.”

Rami took the teasing lightly, the way it was intended. He and Gwilym knew each other since university. The difference was, that Gwilym got accepted only after a long persuading and bribes for the rector, despite his excellent results in school. Both Rami’s parents had been born on Earth, therefore his door were open wherever he chose to go. And he chose to go... here. Packed his bags and a fresh diploma and moved into the poorest part of the city to start a school. His defiance and endless fight for the rights of Queenies soon became a thorn in the side of local authorities, but there was only this much they could do, and Rami suffered through the shit with a smile.

Gwilym’s struggles were of a different kind and sometimes he envied his friend his lack of regrets.

“I wish I could trade a life with you,” he suddenly said, and met with Rami’s surprised eyes.

“Why? Because of Lucy?”

“No, just because...,” Gwilym waved vaguely around, “... everything. It’s like you live the life I was supposed to have, and I live yours.”

“You’d be happy to trade back after a day or two,” Rami chuckled and raised his glass, “and so would I. A toast – to us, the hopeless misfits.”

“To us!” Gwilym downed almost half of his glass in one swig. 

Rami wanted to say something, when a sudden round of applause announced a newcomer – a tall extravagant man, dazzling in his glitters and a dramatic make-up. So much so it was easy to miss his clothes were in fact cheap and many times repaired, and sparkly jewels fake. He wore them with pride.

“Belisha!” Adam found the old woman in the crowd and kissed her cheeks, shining. “Here is my girl, how are you?”

“Old,” she grumbled, but uttered a smile. “Come and have a drink with the boys, you deserve it.”

“So, you liked the show?”

“Adam, all I’m giving here are celebratory drinks. For the ego-stroking go elsewhere.”

“You liked it,” Adam grinned and wedged himself between the two men at the bar. “Gwil, haven’t seen you in a while!”

Gwilym smiled, with Adam’s extravagant bubbly presence that took over the room he couldn’t otherwise.

“You look well,” he said. “Too bad I couldn’t see the show.”

Adam grinned. “Aren’t you sweet. You’ll have another chance, with the celebrations coming, I mean – lots of Queenie venues know damn well who’s the best.”

“Venues,” Rami chuckled. “I love the word. No one would guess you sing in pubs.”

“This is showbusiness, sweetie, words are everything,” Adam winked, unoffended.

“I hope it’ll work for me,” Gwilym smiled, “we’ll be really busy with everything and-”

“You’re on foreign affairs, man!” Rami interrupted him, surprised. “What’s the deal? I thought it’s all under the city committee.”

“The celebrations yes, but...ehm...,” Gwilym hesitated to reveal the secret. But after all, if his boss was right and the press got the hang of it, everybody would get to know either way. “Well... we’re organizing some stuff...,” he breathed deeply, “Brian May and Roger Taylor are coming to have a concert. They’re coming here!”

“What?” Rami gasped, and Adam looked equally shocked. Even Belle stopped polishing the glasses and froze, facing the shelves but clearly listening. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

“May and Taylor?” Adam repeated, blue eyes wide. “The May and Taylor?”

“No, the other ones,” Gwil said with sarcasm evident. “Yes, those two, exactly those two!”

“Wow... that’s... that’s huge!”

“So huge,” Rami added, still a bit stunned in awe, “God... I didn’t even know they’re still alive!”

“Of course, they’re alive,” Gwil frowned.

Rami lifted his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying!” he defended himself. “It’s fifty years since the revolution! And they never visited before!”

Adam chuckled. “To come here from Earth? Voluntarily?”

“Do you think they’re getting paid?” Rami asked. “You know, Singer’s greatest attraction, he could hardy come up with something bigger!”

“They’re rich,” Adam argued, “they don’t need more money.”

“More money never hurts.”

“True.”

“Oh, come on!” Gwil protested. “They basically founded this place, now they want to see it, is that so hard to get? And I mean...,” he lowered his voice, glancing around. Rami and Adam leaned closer. “I mean,” Gwil continued, “it’s them. When the Institute oppressed the Queenies, May and Taylor risked their lives to help. What if we’re the reason they’re coming? To make this right.“

Rami raised an eyebrow. “They risked their lives to brings Earthers here – and so they did,” he said. “This is what they wanted. They’ll come, enjoy the cheering, do some waving, play their music and leave. Don’t get me wrong, I mean... I don’t regret they did what they did, and I mean... wow... we get to see them but... but why should they care? Belle?”

The old woman raised her head from the glasses. “Yeah?”

“May and Taylor?” Rami repeated. “What do you think? Have you seen them during the revolution? What were they like?”

Belisha chuckled, quite dryly. “My boy, what you call revolution happened after May and Taylor already left for Earth. People didn’t get to see much of those two – they played their part before the thing started. I can’t tell you much. Just because I’ve been alive back then, doesn’t mean I got to meet everybody.”

“Ah,” Rami tried his hardest not to sound disappointed. “But,” he perked up, “maybe you get to see them now!”

“I very much doubt it,” Belisha sighed and took the empty glasses from the bar. “They won’t be here for us.”

“So... you would like to see them,” Adam teased, “we can see right through you. Which one tickles your fancy? I bet... Brian May. He must be like... your age, no? Standing on the roof of the Institute with his guitar... I mean, meow.”

“Not on the Institute’s roof,” Belisha stopped him, rolling her eyes, “on the house across the street, so the Institute could see him, dummy.”

“You’ve been there!”

Belisha rolled her eyes. “Or I just actually payed attention when the stories were told.”

They kept bickering, but Gwilym didn’t really listen. His whole attention had been taken by a man who just entered the pub.

“Oh, dear,” Rami snickered, “Gwilly’s little sweetheart is here. And- Ouch! Hey!” he complained after Gwilym’s elbow met his ribs.

The man could be described as many things, but “little sweetheart” wasn’t what would first come to mind. He was tall and muscular, broad shoulders straining his cheap, ill-fitting shirt. Short blond hair and blue eyes gave a strange contrast to permanently scowled and gloomy expression. His naked arms seemed covered with scratches, weals and bruises, and he moved stiffly, as if in pain, even though his face gave away big nothing.

He was a regular in Cool Cat, just like Gwil, though the two rarely spoke. Not that the latter wouldn’t try.

“Hey, Belisha,” the blond went straight to the bar, ignoring everything and everyone around. His voice was surprisingly deep. “I need... got some...?”

“Some,” Belle nodded, leaning closer to the man who so clearly hoped to be inconspicuous, “what exactly?”

“Antibacterial cream,” he said immediately, “and some C-vitamin, if you have, and... Retrovacc? I’ve got... twenty-eight dollars.”

Belisha sighed. “Want a drink?”

“No, no thanks, I just...”

“On the house, Ben. You look like you bloody need something strong.”

The blond nervously bit his lip, and only the sight made Gwilym’s heart flutter. “No, I’m... I’m good,” he said, even quieter than before. “Just if you have-“

“Ben,” Belisha leaned closer and her face was kind, “all of that together-”

“Then just the Retrovacc!” Ben quickly understood. “Just... please. I need that one.”

“Only that would be sixty, my boy, I’m so sorry. The doctors in the City are breaking the law by getting it for us and want to be paid for it.”

“Belle, please, I... I’ll work for you for free, I’ll... do anything and...”

“Ben, I-“ Belisha wanted to keep her ground, but was stopped by Gwilym behind Ben’s back silently pointing to himself and to his purse, “- I understand,” she continued, “so... what about we make it twenty just this once?”

For the first time, Ben’s face lit up and Belisha quickly drew her hands back before he could try and kiss them. “Belle, thank you, you’re absolutely, completely amazing, and I-“

“Alright,” the woman stopped him. “I’ll get it, wait here.”

She disappeared through the back door and Rami nudged Gwilym from behind. “Go and talk to him,” he whispered.

“Wh- no! I can’t!”

“Why not? You already pay to cure his STDs, that’s a good start, but maybe drink’s even better.”

“I can’t!”

“Hell yes, you can!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

Rami pushed Gwilym so hard he slipped from his chair and stumbled towards the blond, trying to keep his balance.

Ben raised his eyes. “Yeah?”

Gwilym shuffled his feet. “Hi. I just... I’ve seen you around few times.”

“I know,” Ben said and Gwilym’s heart sank at the disinterested tone. “You’re that Queenie who works for the government.” Shortly, he looked over the expensive suit, his contempt almost palpable. “What do you want?”

“I... I was wondering if I can get you something. A drink? Or a dinner? With me? We can go somewhere nice, I would love... to get to know you better.”

“What about you just back off?” Ben drew himself back and his frown deepened, “not everybody here is willing to sell their arse, you know?”

“What?” Gwilym blinked in confusion. “I just...”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Ben raised his voice, and his fists tightened. “I know what you’re all after, you and those like you, and you’d have to bring a hell lot of people to make me hold. I’m not in the business, find a hooker to get you off.”

“Here is the-” Belisha returned from the back, carrying a box with three shots, and Ben quickly scooped it, giving twenty dollars in exchange.

“Thanks, Belle, I owe you,” he said quick goodbyes, glared at Gwilym and disappeared in the crowd.

Gwilym let his head freely fall on the desk of the bar. He just wanted to die.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rami patted his shoulder, “at least you tried. Next time, get yourself a guy who doesn’t want to kill you.”

“The Queenie who works for the government,” Gwilym murmured against the desk. “Great. Just great.” Slowly, he fumbled in his purse and took out several notes. “Keep the change, Belle. I... need to head home. Grandma wants to see me.”

“When grandma calls, grandma must be obeyed,” Rami agreed, and his eyes sparkled. “And remember, there are worse things than one asshole in a bar.”

“Not sure about that,” Gwilym sighed, and headed to the exit, just poorly hiding his frustrations.


	2. Man Made Paradise

Ben left his remaining eight dollars in a small, dingy store where he bought a cup of alga for dinner. Then he quickly headed home. 

It was a universal fact that should you have just one meal per day, let it be dinner, so you don’t sleep hungry. Ben’s stomach already clenched in hopeful expectations, but he didn’t really care or notice, focusing on the increasingly stabbing pain in his thigh.

“Shit,” he mumbled, trying to step lightly. That guy from arena must’ve jostled him more than it first seemed. He could only hope the pain would go away on its own. Soon.

“Hey, Joe!” Ben called, stepping through the door, “I’m home!”

He was welcomed by a sight of his red-haired friend stripped from waist down, strenuously rubbing a back side of a pink miniskirt in a cracked sink.

“Hey to you too.” Joe didn’t seem in the least disconcerted, and neither did Ben. 

They’ve already been used to this lack of privacy, as their shared flat equalled one cramped room in the attic of a multi-storey house in the poorest quarter of Queen City.   
Not like they had many things to take space anyway, they slept on an old mattress laid directly on the hard floor, while cold wind always found some crack in a wall or window to run under their weary blanket. Despite Ben’s constant efforts, the place never looked clean thanks to thin layer of dust from crumbling plaster. Here and there, one could even see electric wires running towards their only lightbulb which simply hung from the ceiling, ominously swinging in the draught. The sink in the corner had only cold water running, but they felt lucky they could have at least that. It could be worse. Much worse.

“I got my skirt all dirty,” Joe complained loudly, rubbing even harder, his hands red from the cold.

Ben sighed. “Come?”

“Nah, blood.”

“Theirs?”

With a resigned grunt Joe flung the skirt back in the water to soak and turned to his friend. “Mine,” he said. “Some asshole didn’t wanna use more lube, said he liked the friction. God, the day was hell. Do you think it’ll heal till tomorrow?”

“Liked the friction?” Ben repeated incredulously. “Fuck, Joe! Why didn’t you say something?”

“He didn’t seem like a guy who’d take negotiations from a whore,” Joe shrugged. “And besides, he got my face pressed against his car before I could even ask how he wanted me. In a rush to get home from work, I guess.”

Ben let out a dissatisfied noise, gesturing Joe to bend over so he can assess the damage. It wasn’t the first and probably not even the last time he had to do this. Softly, he grabbed Joe’s hips and pulled him to the middle of the room, under the lightbulb.

“I don’t see any more blood,” he said, leaning closer and tilting his head left and right. His own shadow was getting in the way. “But it’s a bit red.”

“It’s been working hard, quite literally, for hours,” Joe snickered, “so what do you think.”

“If there’s a tear, it’s inside and must be quite small, thank god. I wanted to get a cream for you today, but...” Ben hesitated, and Joe quickly understood. The commonest problem of all.

Quickly, he straightened up and looked at Ben with a smile. “It’s gonna be good without it, you know. And as my mum always said, what you don’t have, you can’t spend on rubbish.”

“Still, put some cold water on it at least.”

“Already have,” Joe looked up, “so, dinner? I’m starving.” 

“Wait,” Ben fumbled in his pockets, and couldn’t stop a giddy smile, “I’ve got a surprise first. I took my savings out of the mattress aaaand...”

Joe’s eyes widened when he realized what Ben was holding. “You got Retrovacc, Jesus fuck, Ben! That’s like... Jesus, thank you, I can’t... even...!” Joe stuttered in excitement. “Fuck!”

“I told you I would get it, so I got it,” Ben beamed, tearing the wrapping already. “Arm or arse?”

“My arm,” Joe answered immediately. “I’m done with pricking my ass for today.”

Ben snickered. “Alright then.” 

Joe only slightly hissed when the needle pierced his skin.

“And here we go. As good as new.”

“It’s them who should be vaccinated anyway,” Joe said, carefully sitting down on the mattress. “They have it for free, after all, why do I have to go through this crap?”

“Because they’re a bunch of pretentious assholes, that’s why,” Ben stated and tossed the empty shot to the bin. “Now, dinner.” Carefully, he took out the alga he bought and split the jelly into two small piles. Their only food for the day.

“When you spread it all over the plate,” Joe mused, squinting his eyes, “it looks like there’s more of it.”

“Hmm...,” Ben answered quite neutrally, “whatever works for you. Anything interesting happened except for the tear in your arse?”

“That wasn’t that interesting. A thing or two but listen to this – ,“ Joe looked up, “- May and Taylor are coming to Queen.”

“What?” Ben nearly choked on his piece of alga and struggled to cough it out. “What?” he repeated with tears in his eyes.

Joe nodded. “Yeah. I just heard it downstairs from Jenny Robinson and she had it from the news. Prime Minister had a big speech.”

“They’re coming back?” Ben looked incredulous. “Why the fuck... What the hell do they want here? Isn’t it enough they ruined this place once? Do they wanna do it again? Did they get bored on Earth in all that... that... parties and... money and... and stuff? How dare they even show their faces in here!”

“Maybe that’s why those friends of yours want to talk to you,” Joe shrugged, unphased by Ben’s rant, “tonight, eleven o’clock.”

Ben immediately sat up straighter. “Really, did they...? And they’re not my friends, Joe.”

Instead of an answer, Joe showed him his palm with an inscription in thick black letters: QQ11

There was no doubt.

“Do you think...,” Joe started, but Ben shushed him. 

“We can’t talk about it here. And the less you know the better. Don’t forget to wash it.”

“Then ask them for some soap,” Joe murmured and turned back to his dinner. “Or ask Belle.”

“Been there just today,” Ben sighed, finishing his dinner. “And guess who I met. Again. Sitting right at the bar like the whole world just belonged to him.”

Joe snickered. “Don’t tell me Mr. Fancypants’s on it again.”

“Sure as hell he is,” Ben frowned, “driving around in his posh car and suit that costs more than our yearly rent, trying to pretend he’s one of us. Who is he kidding anyway?”

“Then strip him and steal the suit.”

“Do you know he actually talked to me?” Ben went on, raising his voice. “He actually wanted me to... to...”

“Would that be a bad idea?” Joe shrugged. “I’d take a piece of that cock even with my ass ripped.”

“Joe! Shut up!” Maybe it was a trick of a light, but it seemed Ben blushed. “I’m not doing that anymore! Not that I’m saying there’s something wrong about... I mean, there is, but not from your side. But it’ll do him good, not to get what he wants for once. Asshole of a hypocrite.” 

“That’s what he wants?” Joe giggled. “I thought he wanted yours. Or is that the same thing?”

“That’s it,” Ben sharply got up, glaring at his friend. “I’m leaving. Places to be and stuff. Try to get some sleep.”

Ben knew the spot Double Q wanted to meet, it was hardly the first time. The red rays of Almira didn’t even get into the narrow streets of his quarter, so he hurried through the shadows, careful not to be seen. 

Night air, though cool, was painfully dry and dusty, and all the unpainted concrete buildings were peppered with weathered stains. Desert sand nobody cared to clean was cracking under his feet.

The corner of Angus Street and Killbeg Court was basically like a backdoor entrance to City’s red-light quarter. Queenies and occasional half-castes worked in local houses, bars, dance clubs or even on the street, wearing high heels and cheap miniskirts, lips painted bright red. Who searched long enough and had an appropriately filled wallet could find even less innocent kinds of entertainment locals provided, hidden from negligent sights of authorities. Ben tried not to think about it.

One of the houses, shabby and mostly abandoned, wore a rusty bronze desk HERE LIVED ROGER TAYLOR to which some joker added: Who cares?

It was like that for a long time, ever since Ben could remember.

There was only one man standing on the corner now, waiting.

“So, you’ve come.” He could be in his early fifties, but wrinkles already created deep crow feet in corners of his light eyes. The whole face seemed hardened by an uneasy life, and Ben tried not to stare at the man’s left cheek deformed by a large scar, which probably went on over his neck and down, but hard to say, as everything was already hidden in a wide black hoodie. Ben never dared to ask, but from experience he knew a gun or a knife would never make such scar. What could it be? A burn? By fire, acid, electricity? Who can tell?

“I have, Josh,” Ben said and carefully looked around. “Is it about them? May and Taylor? I’ve heard they’re coming.”

Josh nodded. “News travel fast. We got an echo just few hours ago.”

“From who?”

The man gave him a crooked smile and didn’t answer.

“You know I’ll do anything you ask,” Ben said, stern and determined. “Are you planning to kill them? If yes...”

“There are mixed opinions,” Josh admitted. “Many factors to consider.”

“Consider?” Ben repeated, suddenly anxious. “Consider? What’s there to consider? Everything this place had become, all the shit... it’s their fault, only theirs! And they just turn their backs to us and... People died because of them, hundreds, thousands of people – this is our only chance! We must do something.”

“We will,” the older man quietly agreed, no less resolute than Ben, “don’t worry about that. Right after our little conversation I meet with others. May and Taylor will reap what they sowed and curse the day they decided to come back.”

“Whatever’s to be done, you can rely on me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And Ben?”

“Yes?”

Josh gave him another of his crooked smiles and pulled a small package out of a pocket of his hoodie. “My source told me you needed some healing cream and painkillers, is that true?”

Ben swallowed, looking up in surprise. “Yes, but... who could...?”

“Do you need them or not?” Josh ignored the question.

“Yes...”

“Then here you are,” quickly, the older man pushed the package in Ben’s shaky hands. “And don’t thank me. Double Q looks after their own.”

“Alright, thank y- I mean, yes, I need that.”

“Good night, Ben,” Josh smiled. “Your friend is waiting, and there’s a great future in front of us. Dream about it.” 

Ben nodded. “I will.”

At the same time, though in a vastly different part of the City, Gwilym just stepped out of his car and inhaled the delicate smell of a freshly cut lawn. Miami Lane was a street of the top ten thousand, the representatives, the elite, the only ones who could afford something as wasteful and useless as lawns. Though this one was relatively small. 

“Prime Minister asked to see me,” Gwilym announced to the security, they nodded and opened the tall metal gate.

“Welcome, Mr. Lee.”

The house was a series of rectangles constructed of steel and glass. Unapologetically modern, just like all the others, it stood in the dark green grass, shiny and immaculate, as if it just grew up there rather than had been constructed. The roof was flat, large windows asymmetrical. The front door was metallic and opened with both a mechanical lock and biometric scanner.

Gwil had a key.

“Grandma?” he called, stepping in, and his voice echoed through the long hallway. “I’m here!”

Inside was just as minimalistic as the exterior. The walls were fashionable shades of white and the floor polished concrete. There was no sign this house was inhabited by human beings except for the most astonishing black and white family photographs. Gwil recognized himself in most of them. No clutter of shoes or jackets, no clutter of any kind. Yellow plastic narcissi shined on a dark coffee table with imitation of cherry tree wood.

“In the living room, please!” he heard a faint answer, and immediately headed to the source upstairs.

He found his grandmother sitting on a sofa, state documents “private, to hands of Anita Dobson only” spread all around her, while she carefully read one-by-one in warm light of a tall lamp.

Prime Minister Dobson was an old woman, undoubtedly, not the kind you’d pity with their old bones and feeble limbs, but the kind who could still enter a room and immediately matter. She kept her grey hair pinned up in a chic hairdo, and face tastefully made-up. With slim figure dressed in elegant clothes and decent jewellery she always radiated an aura of authority and perfection.

“Sit with me,” she asked and Gwilym hurried to obey. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No, I... I’ve had dinner before.”

She seemed sceptical. “You’re skin and bones, Gwilly.”

Gwilym chuckled. “Is that what you wanted to tell me so urgently?”

“Read this,” Anita said and pushed a piece of paper in his direction. Gwilym quickly flew through it.

“May and Taylor are coming to Queen,” he summed up and put the document aside, hiding a smile. “I knew that. It’ll be the greatest celebration in modern history.”

“I wish more people shared your opinions, Gwil,” Anita sighed, and looked at her grandson. “It’s going to be a great risk, for them, sure, but also for us.”

Gwilym frowned. “What do you mean? Singer will take care of all the security, no one would dare-“

“Oh, they’d dare,” she interrupted him. “Though I trust Singer to put all his green brains to all the right places. Double Q isn’t a serious threat, or at least not for us to deal with. There are other, more... unsettling, delicate issues. The reason why May and Taylor even agreed to come and be paraded around.”

“They wouldn’t get the temporary visa without Singer’s invitation,” Gwil said simply. “That’s why now.”

“That’s why now but not why.”

“I don’t understand.”

Anita leaned back and looked at her grandson kindly over the frame of her elegant glasses. “I’ve suggested you as their personal assistant and guide throughout the whole stay. In the hotel, you’ll have a room next to theirs, you will accompany them wherever they go, and you will try to accommodate their wishes... or make sure they’re turned down politely with proper reasoning, do we understand each other?”

During a long silence, Gwilym slowly realized what she just said, his pulse sped up. “I’ll be their assistant?” He let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and an exclamation of joy and couldn’t hide a smile quickly lighting up his whole face. His heart felt warm, swollen and twice as fast as usual. “I’ll get to be with them? The whole time?” He thought about the collection of posters in his bedroom, perhaps he’ll get them signed! “Jesus fuck...,” he muttered, “oh, sorry, grandma, I mean, good Lord...”

“Oh, shut up,” Anita stopped him. “I chose you because I know I can rely on you.”

“Of course you can, I’ll do anything they ask, I’ll-“

“No, you’ll do what I’m asking.”

Gwilym hesitated, knowing that no-nonsense tone, and slowed down his excitement. “What do you mean? What am I supposed to do?”

Anita took her time with an answer, absent-mindedly making order in her papers. “Many things changed during the fifty years they’ve been gone. All this stuff with inhabitation support, contracts to rhenium mines, laws for the exclusive spaceport ownership, policy of safe procreation... I don’t think I need to explain how it turned out for us.”

“I’m aware,” Gwilym answered dryly.

“Well, May and Taylor not.” Finally, she looked at him, and her eyes were strict. “They don’t know any of this. Earth politicians only get information Singer wants them to get, and as long as he includes enough valuables with his report, they don’t pry. And they don’t care.”

“But May and Taylor...,” Gwilym opposed, “they’re not like that! They would care-”

“That’s exactly my point!” Anita exclaimed and got up to walk nervously around the sofa. “They think Queen became free, just like they once dreamed it to be. And if they realize it isn’t so...”

“Exactly!” Gwilym got up as well, as if pinched by a needle. “If they realize, they’ll help and-”

“And? And what?” Anita spread her arms. “They have no legal power, only the one that comes with their names. From what I remember, if Brian knew the whole truth, he’d do anything to fix this.”

“Then let him!”

“Last time he tried to fix Queen,” Anita snapped, “more than a hundred thousand people died! This might just happen again, during yet another revolution, and you know damn well what people would it be. I will not let that happen, not on my watch. This balance we keep with Earthers is fragile, it takes one wrong move to send this all to hell,” she breathed sharply. “I’m the only Queenie in government, for appearances, a facade to silence the protesters, but I spent the last fifty years of my life fighting for our rights. One wrong step, one pretext, the Earthers with Singer in lead toss me out, and then there’ll be no one to defend our people. I will not let May or Taylor do anything that would threaten Queenies, and you’ll help me with it.”

Gwilym scowled. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Make them see what they want to see,” she said and looked away from her grandson to the wall with a large black and white photograph of their whole family. “Their accommodation, daily activities, protection and everything else is taken care of, but your job is to ensure they look the way we point, and not elsewhere. You will answer their questions in the correct way, you will discourage any attempts to turn from our prepared schedule. You make sure they are happy and enjoy their stay.”

“You want me to lie to them?” Gwilym angrily folded arms on his chest. “Do you really think they deserve that?”

“Who said this was ever fair,” Anita suppressed a sigh. “And if you do your job correctly, no lies will be necessary. You’re intelligent enough. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“I don’t like this, grandma.”

“You don’t have to. Most of vital things are unpleasant, especially in politics.” Anita walked over the room and poured herself a glass of water from a decorative jug, clearly stating she considered the issue closed. Suddenly, she turned back to her sulking grandson. “And one more thing.”

Gwilym just raised his hands, gesturing resignation. “Yes?”

“If I’m not wrong, and I don’t think I am,” she sipped on her water, “the reason Brian and Roger are coming is to visit Freddie and John. Mercury and Deacon,” she added upon Gwil’s confused glance.

“Oh,” he nodded. “Of course, that’ll be lovely. Are they going to stay in the same hotel or-”

“They’re not coming,” she jumped in. “And before you ask, no, there’s no visit planned.”

Gwilym frowned. “Why?”

“May and Taylor will meet with Luke Mercury-Deacon, who can hopefully explain everything,” her eyes lingered on Gwil again. “You must support him. Make them accept the reality and prevent the two idiots from doing anything stupid.”

“Anything stupid,” Gwilym used a rather sarcastic undertone. “Loaded task, can you elaborate?”

“Use your brain and elaborate yourself,” Anita sat back down on her sofa, not giving her grandson any more of an eye contact. “That’ll be all for today, you can go.”

Gwilym nodded, feeling a bit cold. “Good night, grandma.”

“And Gwilym?”

“Yes?” He turned, already at the door.

“You never disappointed me before,” Anita said, her expression both sad and serious. “I beg you, don’t let this be the first time.”

“It won’t be,” Gwil said immediately, “I promise it won’t be. Good night, grandma.”


	3. Another World, Under Another Sky

Despite being not exactly young anymore, Brian rarely admitted his age. Of course, both his body and his mirror loved to serve as a reminder, but he hardly ever felt it. This moment, however, showed the truth in full glory.

Brian felt weak and exhausted, laid in a lounger in the private wing of Queen Spaceport. Tiny and frankly laughable place, especially when compared to the Fecundity Spaceport, large colossus on the Moon from which hundreds of ships daily set off to countless places all over the Solar system and beyond. Queen welcomed one middle sized ship per month, and its spaceport looked accordingly. But for Brian, it had a sweet taste of victory. This is what they fought for. And won. 

The lounge looked expensive and modern, steel and glass, walls elegantly curved to create an illusion of much larger space. And the beams supported so many windows, let in so much light, that Brian felt like he was just resting on a terrace of one of their summer houses during a sunny day.

Now if only he could to enjoy it. 

He wasn’t sure if he was jet-lagged, but the sensations felt quite comparable. After a year and a half long sleep in cryo-unit, two days on QSS in zero gravity, now the landing... ugh. He was drowsy, weak, thirsty, and felt a sweat covering every inch of his skin. Brian knew this was perfectly normal, had nothing to do with his age, and should go away within few hours but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

“Roger?” he mumbled trying to look by his side. “Rog?”

Gentle snoring was the only answer. Roger Taylor, you lucky bastard. For a moment, Brian put away the discomfort and smiled fondly at his husband. He knew what this trip meant for him.

“Doctor May?” one of the spaceport workers overseeing the arrival lounge noticed him awake and immediately approached. She was wearing a tasteful grey uniform. “We got a call from the City, car should be here in less than an hour. In the meantime, can I offer you something to drink? Water, Cola, beer, wine, juice – apple, orange, pineapple, cranberry... And we always recommend passengers to eat at least a biscuit or two upon arrival.”

“Pineapple juice, thank you,” Brian requested with a smile. “And yes, biscuits would be lovely.”

“I bring them immediately,” she nodded, but instead of walking away, she kept staring while her cheeks turned a shade more crimson. “And ah... we’re... extremely honoured you chose to visit us, doctor May, I... would you mind to sign this...?”

“Not at all,” Brian tried to straighten up a bit while she handed him a photograph and a pen. It had to be one of those fake, computer generated pictures, because it showed Brian in his opinion more handsome and broad-shouldered than he ever was, playing guitar on a roof, long coat floating in the wind.

“What’s your name, love?”

The girl blushed. “S-Sharon.”

Brian quickly scribbled the autograph, handed it back, and had to close his eyes, ran over by another wave of the jet-lag. 

Someone behind his back cleared his throat. 

“Not even an hour on a new planet, Bri, and you’re already chatting up waitresses.”

Brian chuckled, and turned around to face his husband. “Well, you’ve been sleeping so hard I thought I was a widower already.”

“You wish,” Roger huffed.

“Oh, please.”

Sharon returned, carrying a tempting tray with the snacks ordered. The juice was cooled just right, in a tall glass, adorned with cherry, plastic straw and cute paper umbrella. Decoratively arranged biscuits looked delicious as well.

“Here it is,” she smiled, “if there is anything else you might possibly need, please, just ask.”

Roger tried to catch her attention. “Ehm, excuse, me, miss-“ But she was already gone, so he opted to steal one of the biscuits from Brian’s tray.

Brian took a gulp of his drink, and had to admit, the water and sugar helped a great deal. 

“She sure has her favourite,” Roger quipped and accepted a sip Brian offered. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than five minutes ago,” Brian admitted, smiling. “You?”

“Like crap, but I meant,” Roger vaguely gesticulated, “this. Queen. Honestly...,” he let out a shaky laugh, “I never thought I would see it again. All these years and... is it too bad I still think of it as my home?”

Brian sat up with a quiet grunt and reached out for his husband’s hand. “This is your home, love,” he whispered, and Roger smiled, “and it always will be. We made it back, and I want you to enjoy every minute. This is a dream come true, a world we wanted.”

“I can’t wait.” Roger looked happy. Their lips met in a kiss. 

After a further chat with Sharon, Roger got a glass of water and the couple decided to take a slow stroll around the lounge, curiously peeking out through the wide windows.

“This reminds me the very first time I saw this place,” Brian said, looking all over the endless dunes. The spaceport had to be built away from all inhabited areas, for safety reasons. There was only a desert, just like Brian remembered. “Sand... sky... solar panels... Oh, I can’t wait to see Deaky’s transmitter, just so... And Deaky. And Freddie.”

Roger had to admit he felt a bit disappointed their friends didn’t welcome them already, but he reckoned they didn’t want to intrude right after landing. And that was probably for the best, he didn’t feel exactly dignified, all drowsy and shaky.

“Do you think they changed?” Brian wondered.

“Hm, they sure got old. Maybe fat.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Unlike us, I presume.”

Roger winked. “Naturally. We’re young and beautiful. Forever and indefinitely.”

“What a luck.”

“Come to me,” Roger requested, and Brian gladly wrapped his arms around him, being pressed in return. The white beard ticked on his cheek.

“I’m so happy, Rog,” he whispered lovingly in his ear, “are you?”

“I am...” Roger’s hand slowly wandered through Brian’s grey curls, pulling him for a long kiss. “Right now, I’m happy...”

Brian sighed. “We’re not alone.” Despite his words, he didn’t fight the affections, and let Roger do whatever he liked.

“We haven’t been alone since 2645, Bri, I don’t care...”

They managed to steal two precious minutes for themselves before the lounge door opened. Some of the men who entered looked like soldiers, stern and dressed in uniforms, the rest was in suits, Brian guessed those to be some officials of sorts. 

Young tall man with brown hair and shining seafoam eyes quickly made it across the hall right to the couple. “Doctor May, Mr. Taylor, welcome to Queen,” his face was literally beaming. “My name is Gwilym Lee, and I’ll be at your disposal for the duration of your stay, which, I hope, will be most pleasant one.”

It was clear he had the short speech learned by heart. None of the two old men missed the nervous twitch of the poor lad’s fingers. 

“We’re happy to meet you, Mr. Lee,” Brian offered his hand which was quickly accepted.

“Please, call me Gwilym. It’s so... incredible to meet you. Mr. Taylor,” he smiled and shook Roger’s hand as well, “I hope you had a comfortable journey.”

Brian chuckled. “Within the bounds of possibility, Gwilym. I dream one day long-distance space-travels will be as easy as a trip to Callisto, but the day isn’t yet here.” 

Gwilym quickly nodded. “Eh- yes, yes, of course. Hopefully. Callisto is... a moon of Jupiter, right?” This is just brilliant, he thought angrily, why not, show him exactly the nothing you know, on day one, why not. Gwil would slap himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Brian smiled and pressed Gwil’s hand in apology, “you’ve never been to Solar System, haven’t you?” 

“I haven’t,” Gwilym sighed in relief. Perhaps Brian May doesn’t think him stupid. Well, not yet. “My parents left for Earth eight years ago, but my place is here. I’m the secretary to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Murdoch.”

Brian smiled. “An important job. We leave ourselves in your capable hands.” 

“Yes, so the car is just outside,” Gwilym gestured to the door, “so if you, please, just follow me. All your luggage and other members of your company will be taken care of. We’re be going straight to the Centre where the city council prepared formal welcome with a surprise-”

Freddie and Deaky, Brian and Roger exchanged knowing looks.

“- in May’s Park-”

“May’s Park?” Brian looked both surprised and amused.

“Don’t get cocky,” Roger mumbled. “Just wait for the Taylor Tower.”

“Yes,” Gwilym nodded, “eh, not the part about tower, but May’s Park is actually the oldest grassed over area in the City, right in the Centre, surrounded by houses of government. 643 acres of greenery decorated by three water reservoirs.”

“Taylor Lake?” Roger guessed.

“I’m afraid not,” Gwilym couldn’t hold an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. And after the meeting and... surprise... everybody would move to your hotel, you’ll be accommodated and join our celebratory reception downstairs whenever you’re ready. Now, please, if you follow me-”

“Gwilym,” Roger stopped him, hiding a grin, “the lady with flowers behind you doesn’t look very happy.”

“Oh, flowers!” Gwil quietly panicked and bit his lip. “Yes, we have flowers. Right. The flowers. The flowers for you, the flowers chosen especially for you, your flowers, I’m so sorry.”

“Please, calm down,” Brian touched the young man’s shoulder, looking at him with an encouraging smile. “Gwilym, there’s no need to be nervous. We’re simply two old men-“  
Roger cleared his throat, earning an eyeroll from his husband.

“-two men in their best years,” Brian readjusted his statement, “making a sentimental trip to re-visit old places and old friends – also in their best years. Everything else is just a bonus.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Gwilym stared at his perfectly polished shoes and his ears shined red. “You’ve brought Queen to its new age, you basically fathered it. You got rid of the tyranny and injustice, you gave people hope and freedom. There isn’t a person on this planet who wouldn’t know your names, not one who wouldn’t love you for what you’ve done. It’s the highest honour to welcome you back.”

Roger just exchanged glances with the flower girl, and she handed him the bouquet. For her, this was a job and she wanted home.

“We’re incredibly humbled by the attitude, Gwilym,” Brian said quietly, “touched and humbled.”

“You deserve all the credit,” Gwilym smiled. “And please, follow me, the car is waiting and it’s a two-hour drive to the City.”

The journey had been quite uneventful, on a mostly empty road surrounded by sand dunes. Gwilym fidgeted next to the driver, constantly trying to find just the right amount of looking back, enough so he wouldn’t look like ignoring his guests, but not too much to look intrusive. Luckily for him, Brian fell asleep and Roger put on his sunglasses, quietly watching the landscape outside, happy enough without Gwil’s inputs.

“We’re about twenty kilometres from the Queen City,” was the first sentence spoken out loud after a long time. The landscape changed, and first small houses started to appear by the road, surrounded by xerophytic trees providing shade.

“Bri, Bri, look,” Roger nudged his husband awake, “it’s trees! Trees on Queen, can you believe that?”

Brian looked out, equally awed, and gave Roger a bright smile. “It’s incredible.”

Gwilym turned to them. “You’ve surely heard about the program to re-hydrate the planet. We have now about three hundred artificial lakes around bigger cities. It influenced the ecosystem to grow Earth’s flora. It rains now. Not very often, but it does.” He smiled. “My grandmother told me that when it happened for the first time, people were hiding in their homes.”

“I don’t blame them,” Roger looked at his husband. “Remember? My first rain?”

Brian chuckled. “Oh, yes, I remember.” He didn’t elaborate any further and Gwilym decided not to pry. He was just happy his guests looked satisfied.

The Queen City started to emerge in front of them. Tall shiny skyscrapers of the Centre were towering over the endless residential quarters which creeped to the sides just to end abruptly so the desert could take over once again. They started to meet other cars now, roads from all the directions headed in to get lost in the millions of City’s streets.

“And it’s much bigger...,” Roger mumbled when they properly entered, making their way through the traffic. 

Three police cars joined them from all sides, clearing the road with their sirens. Brian noticed fences, police tape, and armed soldiers were busy with holding back the crowd. People flooded the streets just to see the famous visitors driving around. Absolute silence of the desert changed into calling, screaming, singing and overall frenzy accompanied by clicks of thousands of cameras.

“How far is the park!” Roger yelled so Gwilym would hear him.

“Just around the corner!” Gwilym shouted back. “And I should warn you – it’s broadcasted all over the planet, so... well... smile.”

Roger scratched his beard and said something, but too quietly for anyone to hear. The roar from outside was getting louder.

Finally, the car stopped next to a tall bronze gate with a proud decorative inscription MAY’S PARK.

It opened to a seemingly endless space filled with green colour, calm and fresh air, a striking contrast to the houses around. The grass was dark green, thick, and some of the trees bloomed. Roger recognized Japanese cherry, magnolia and alpine laburnum, but there were many, many more, creating a sight of a breath-taking beauty.

“God help us,” Brian chuckled when he noticed a wide red carpet laid all over the main path, prepared apparently only for them, and a large group of well-dressed people waiting on the other side of it. And, of course, there was the crowd, the cameras, the soldiers...

“It’s like fifty years ago in Atlanta,” Roger mumbled. “All over again.”

Brian sighed. “I hope not.”

They stepped out on the red carpet, and the crowd went wild. Everybody was screaming in absolute excitement, so loud Brian knew his ears would be ringing at least for an hour. There was an endless mass of people, pressed together body on body, and suddenly they started: stomp-stomp-clap, stomp-stomp-clap, stomp-stomp-clap...

Oh God... Brian swallowed, and his heart fluttered, they remember... it’s still here...

stomp-stomp-clap

STOMP-STOMP-CLAP

STOMP-STOMP-CLAP

He was painfully aware of the cameras as they walked through the gate, he and Roger hand in hand, Gwilym few steps behind. It wasn’t the attention that worried him, god knows he got used to that by now, but that was Earth. Here... Gwilym made perfectly clear how people of Queen think of them. Saviour. Deity. Father of the new age. But that was just so... so long ago. 

He recalled the picture Sharon had him sign in the spaceport. More than ever he wished he really looked like that. He used to, but now... It felt as if gravity had been turned up several fold and weighed him down, hunching his back and pressing his joints. All the sudden he felt small, distorted and miserable, aware how long it was since his curls lost their colour and sharpness of his face disappeared under a map of wrinkles, stubbornly deepening with every passing year. He felt all the cameras and stares, he saw people turning to their neighbours and whispering...

“Bri!” Roger hissed. “Smile!” 

Brian quickly chased away the shadows and waved right and left, making himself shine as if he wished nothing more than to meet each and every one of the people and stay with them forever.

Gwilym, still behind the couple, looked simply meticulous in his best suit, focused on the important task. He got distracted only once, for few seconds, when he noticed familiar blond hair and blue eyes in the crowd. Ben was there! 

As they walked, the group of officials went to meet them in the middle.

Gwilym made several long quick steps to outrun Brian and Roger, so when the two groups finally met, he could make the important introductions. 

The first one was a tall and well-built man, dressed in a full uniform with a whole collection of medals. Pips on his shoulders proudly gave away his rank of a general.

“General Singer,” Gwilym said, bowing his head, “please, let me introduce our guests from Earth, doctor Brian May and Roger Taylor.”

“I cannot even express how happy I am you accepted our invitation, doctor May,” general Singer shook Brian’s hand, showing his unnaturally white teeth in a smile. “Is it Doctor or Vice Admiral May? It’s hard to wrap one’s head around all your achievements.”

“I retired from my work for NASA years ago, general,” Brian explained, but felt flattered nonetheless, “these days I’m a mere scholar and musician accompanying his husband on a trip to places of our youth.”

“Oh, of course,” Singer nodded towards Roger. “Pleasure. I believe you remember Prime Minister Dobson...”

“Anita!” Brian’s eyes widened with unaffected pleasure “You look still the same, or only better.”

She beamed. “Brian. You’ve been so dearly missed. And Roger!”

The cameras around didn’t stop clapping for even a second.

“You’ve done a lot of work around here,” Roger shook her hand and gestured around. “I can’t believe it! Is Freddie and Deaky-“

“I hope my grandson presented Queen in a proper light,” Anita proudly wrapped her arm around Gwilym’s shoulders.

“Your grandson!” Brian let out a laugh. “Oh, boy! Time really flies.”

“Faster and faster,” Anita agreed and turned to the rest of their group. “There are other proofs of that.” She gestured Brian towards a slender brown-haired man in his... Late forties? Early fifties? “I present you Luke Mercury-Deacon.”

Luke stepped forward, his face bright. “Uncle Brian, uncle Roger! Oh...,” he grinned in apology, “I mean, doctor May. I’m so sorry, my fathers talked about you so often I feel like I know you forever.”

Instead of an answer, Brian gave him a quick, tight hug. “I’m honoured to be promoted to uncle Brian,” he winked and unexpected tears stung in his eyes. John’s son. This was John’s son. “Rog? What about you?”

Roger tilted his head. “You’re just like your father,” he remarked. “But how is that-“

“Long story,” Luke said warmly, “but I hope I’ll have time to tell it. There’s a lot of catching up to do.”

“Most definitely,” Brian agreed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be in contact with your fathers nearly enough.” 

Something in Luke’s face twitched, but the smile stayed on. “Yes, I’m sorry too. But we always hoped you were very happy out there.”

“Are they h-“

“Please, meet my sister,” Luke made a swift step aside to make a way for a woman behind him. She seemed to be the same age he was, soft crowfeet already settled by her eyes, but bright gap-toothed smile made up for all the imperfections. 

“Laura Mercury-Deacon,” she introduced herself and even wider smile created dimples in her cheeks, “we’re both so incredibly excited to finally meet you. And... I’m afraid I’m the last to be introduced.” She glanced at Gwilym and then Singer. “So...?”

General quickly nodded. “Yes, please, come with me, gentlemen. To start off this great anniversary and to welcome you here, we’ve prepared a little something. Just down the meadow.”

The whole group followed his lead across the lawn. Brian and Roger exchanged glances. The probability of meeting Deaky and Freddie seemed increasingly slim, and everything just... why? But if Mercury-Deacons planned to surprise them, May-Taylors would be the last to ruin it.

The grass felt like a carpet under their feet and a nearby Japanese cherry smelled so sweetly one could almost feel drunk. In a distance they could hear a sound of a bubbling stream. 

Roger quickened his steps to appear by Luke’s side. “Your fathers must be very proud of you two,” he said directly, “how are they?” 

Luke’s face stiffened. “You know... nobody even told me if you have any children, uncle Roger. Did you and uncle Bri-“

“Boy, we’ve strayed from the subject, I want to know-“

“Attention, please!” general called, and Luke quickly stepped away. 

Right by the small lake, there was at least ten meters tall, massive object covered by a red cloth. 

“As this is May’s Park,” Singer proclaimed, “the whole city council, in an absolute agreement with the government, decided, it would be incomplete without its own Brian May, accompanied by his beloved husband. We’re beyond honoured to have the originals with us here today, but even long after their departure, this statue will remain, bringing back memories and reminder what these great men had done for Queen. Brian May and Roger Taylor, in behalf of all Queen, we thank you.”

They’re going to unveil a statue. Brian swallowed. They’re getting a statue.

The general himself took the thick rope and surrounded by flashes of cameras, he tugged. The cloth fell smoothly to the ground.

Well...

The thing was undoubtedly massive, made of white stone, and depicted the couple young, like they once used to be. Marble Brian stood firmly with guitar in his hands, proud and handsome, staring somewhere far away, his face stern and heroic. Truly a monumental sight. Marble Roger was sitting at his husband’s feet, hands laid in his lap, looking up. Angelic, empty face showed nothing but a loving adoration.

Roger blinked.

He just couldn’t, he wouldn’t believe his own eyes. Maybe all his senses started to shut down, because the scene rendered him speechless. Brian didn’t seem to be doing much better. 

They painfully realized all the cameras and people’s stares were on them.

“Well...,” Brian forced a smile, trying to look anywhere but at the obvious, “...we’re... we have no words, truly, this is... beyond words. It’s like... nothing we would’ve expected. Thank you, thank you so much, we’re extremely honoured.”

“Let’s go,” Roger mumbled and took his hand, slowly boiling, red in the face, and not caring about some damned protocol, if there even were any. He’s been through a lot, but never, never felt so utterly humiliated.

Brian could guess his husband’s state of mind, and quickly followed. 

“We’ll be heading to the hotel now,” Gwilym jogged next to them, leaving the rest of the company few steps back.

“Good,” Roger snapped. “Can you arrange there won’t be any more statues? Or paintings, while we’re at it?”

“Oh, o-of course.”

“Calm down, Rog,” Brian whispered, “people are staring.”

“Damn right, let them stare, let them all see! God, I-“

He didn’t finish the sentence. A blinding flash came from the spot the statue stood, followed by a deafening explosion. Powerful blast wave swept them off their feet. Brian desperately felt Roger’s hand slip away when he hit the ground, and there was someone on him, pushing down even further, Brian couldn’t breathe, only feeling a white-hot pain and something dripping off his face. Thousands tiny pieces of marble were flying in the air. People were screaming, crying and shouting. Something was burning, he could smell it, he could hear a loud cracking of fire, and it was close, so close. Everything got hot and painful.

But the world was dark.


	4. Welcome to the New Dark Ages

For his standards, Roger had quite a shitty day. Even more so, because... it was supposed to be his day. At least the way he pictured it. He knew damn well it never paid off to have expectations, because they usually didn’t come true, and one ended up disappointed. But still... All those years, especially lately, he couldn’t but dream about his town, about Freddie and Deaky, about how all four of them would go for a short walk, have a cup of tea and look around the familiar places.

Old man’s thoughts, Roger chastised himself and shook his head.

But, well... he was never one to push away the truth. He was old.

It turned out... differently. First, that landing, that had been annoying enough, and everything what followed just felt... wrong. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he knew. The way everyone looked at him and sorts of... stared through him. Like he didn’t matter. And of course, a cherry on top was that ridiculous statue and – oh, someone tried to kill them. On the flip side, the marble monstrosity was in pieces, but hell, they could be too.

Roger would never forget those few seconds when Brian lay motionless among the dirt and debris. He shivered. He could’ve lost him...

But no. Brian was alright. And he was alright too, though his knee hurt like hell. It could’ve been much worse... they could... everybody could...

“Enjoying the party?”

Anita’s voice woke him up from contemplations. Despite the attack, posh reception to celebrate his and Brian’s return wasn’t cancelled, only the security increased about hundred times. And, to be completely honest, all the soldiers in front of the hotel, as well as at the entrance and walking around in the reception hall, didn’t make Roger feel any safer, only increased his vague unease.

The place was large. Huge and luxurious. The ceiling must have been at least eight meters high, with designs of fruit and flowers carved into the moulding, disturbed only by six sparkly crystal chandeliers. The room itself was hot and air stuffy, filled with various perfumes. Majority of the hall was taken by small round tables with royal blue cloth, always accompanied by four chairs each. There, people could sit down, chat, and enjoy various delicacies from overflowing buffet tables. For Roger, the food was the real star, and so far, the only positive thing about the whole evening. Everything he could think of, and even some things he’d never seen before, were laid out proudly, begging to be eaten. Huge platters of neatly cut meat with savoury fruit and nuts. Ocean creatures (how did those even get on Queen?) drizzled in sauces or prepared to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Pineapple glazed ham, mounds of fragrant wild rice, potatoes and diced pumpkin smeared with butter. Countless cheeses, breads, vegetables, and one whole table for sweets only. 

He should get back to eating before his chocolate ice cream sundae turned in a melted pile of goo. 

Anita smiled, sat down to Roger’s table and put down her own plate with some sorts of stuffed pear. “Champagne?”

Roger chuckled. “Sure, if you manage to get it. I’ve been trying the whole evening. One would think I’m invisible.”

“Well,” Anita shrugged, “you’re a celebrity, they’re nervous.” Sharply, she waved at one of the waiters circling around, making sure nobody’s glass got empty. He ambled to them.

“Are they?” Roger raised an eyebrow, accepting the tall glass.

Few tables away, Brian was surrounded by a group of at least twenty people, all hanging on his lips while he explained the principles of observations that lead to his latest article in Kuiper Belt Today. He didn’t seem displeased by the attention and excitement, especially as Roger stopped showing any some fifteen years ago.

Anita ignored his question and tilted her head, also studying the group. “What is he talking about?”

Roger sighed. “About a chunk of stone with crystals of presolar silicon carbide grains condensed in the solar nebula,” he took a gulp of his drink. “Bri’s team’s trying to date the Solar System.” 

She looked surprised. “Oh. I didn’t think... well, that you’d know.”

“Jesus, thanks,” Roger frowned. “Always happy to amaze.” His stare didn’t move from Brian, only now focused on the small band aid on his face and bandaged wrist. “Did they catch them?” he asked.

“Catch who?”

“You know, this might come as a shock, but there was a statue explosion this afternoon,” Roger said. “Do you know who did it? And why?”

Anita raised an eyebrow. “How can I know?”

“Maybe because you’re a bloody Prime Minister and you were right there?” Roger gave her a sharp stare but took a spoonful of his sundae and seemingly dropped the issue. “How long have you been in the office?”

“For a long time,” Anita tugged on her dress and smiled without much joy. “Since Miami died.”

Roger only nodded. He knew that. “How... how did he die anyway?”

“Heart failure,” she emptied her glass in quite un-ladylike swig. “It’s... oh, twenty-seven years already. It happened the year Cen gave birth.”

“Cen’s your daughter,” Roger guessed.

“Yes,” Anita put the empty glass away and cut herself a slice of pear, “I took her from Central Childhood Centre, to give a positive example. She’s about the same age as Luke and Laura. Clever, bright girl... and then she goes and gets married at twenty. To an Earth soldier.”

Roger chuckled. “Disappointed?”

“I want only the best for her,” Anita replied in a very dignified way and slowly chewed on her dinner. “Though... I hoped for her to be of any help. In the government. But then her husband got an offer back home, so... off they went, leaving their son behind. But Gwilym turned out to be a great boy, I couldn’t wish for better,” she smiled. “So, I’m satisfied.”

“Where is he anyway?” Roger glanced around, searching for the familiar face. 

“They kept him in hospital for some observations,” Anita explained, “and I told him to take an evening off. Were it on him, believe me, Gwilym wouldn’t leave you alone. He takes his job very seriously.”

“Not doubt about that...,” Roger hummed. “So, who did it? The statue?”

Anita frowned. “You really won’t drop that, will you?”

“It’s highly unlikely,” he agreed and leaned forward. “And don’t try to tell me you don’t know anything. Because if you guys had no clue who could’ve done that, this party wouldn’t be happening. But it is. We came to Queen after fifty years, fifty! And someone tries to kill us the first day?” Roger sharply inhaled. “Don’t you think we have the right to know?”

“And when I tell you, what are you going to do about it? Nothing!”

“Is it really such a crime to just want to know?”

“Alright!” Anita lifted her hands and gave him a sharp glare. “Alright. We know who did it. It’s kind of pathetic.”

Roger raised an eyebrow. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

She shrugged. “You would if you knew.” She leaned in and lowered her voice, encouraging Roger to do the same. “Since... since we called Earth for help and people started arriving, some locals weren’t happy about it. The majority calmed down already, but there is still a small group of terrorists spending their time blowing up roads and... burning bridges... and sabotaging. They hate everything from Earth. And I suppose... that includes you.”

“I’m from Queen!” Roger protested. “I was born here, and I grew up here, for fuck’s sake!”

“You left,” Anita said. “You spent the last fifty years on Earth. You married a man from Earth. You talk like an Earther, you dress like one, there’s not much Queen left in you, Rog.”

“Because you can tell,” Roger scowled coldly, and his lips tightened. He felt betrayed. On Earth he spent decades being “the blond alien”, the curiosity, the attraction, never fitting in. And now he returned home and... Was he... doomed to belong nowhere?

“It’s just a small group of people,” Anita sensed his mood shift and tried to offer a comfort. “They call themselves Double Q. A bunch of lunatics who hate everyone for everything and lack any real purpose. I’m sorry you had to deal with them, but I swear they’re not important.”

Roger clenched his fists under the table. “What do Freddie and Deaky think about it?”

“Freddie and Deaky?” Anita looked up, surprised, and nervously shifted on her chair. “They... they retired from the public picture, long time ago. In the beginning they still helped from afar, but I haven’t heard from them in quite a while. We’re not in contact. That’s why I invited Luke.” She pointed her chin towards a lonely man standing at the window, looking out. “If someone can tell you more about them, it’s him.”

“They... won’t be coming here?”

“Maybe,” Anita squirmed again, “maybe not. I don’t know.”

Roger sharply stood up, fed up with the vague responses, and his breath ragged with a supressed anger. “It’s been lovely talking to you.”

Brian didn’t miss Roger’s abrupt movement and when their eyes met, he excused himself from the group of fangirls and quickly walked over to his husband.

“What is it? What happened?” he asked.

Roger only grabbed his sleeve and nearly dragged him over the room towards Luke, who lit up with a smile too bright to be believable when he saw them coming.

“Uncle Rog, uncle Bri!” he spread his arms. “Are you enjoying the party? From what I can say, it’s the fanciest reception that ever took place in here. Everybody is so-”

“Save it,” Roger recommended coldly. “We came to talk.” Brian glared at him in reprimand, not understanding the harshness.

Luke stuttered a bit. “I- eh- of course, chats are lovely.” 

“About your parents,” Roger explained frankly. “Are they planning to come at all? And answer honestly.”

“My parents...,” Luke repeated, looked down on his shoes and brushed some hair from his face. “I... I don’t think they’ll be coming.”

It came as a surprise for Brian – and not the pleasant kind. “Why not?” he asked. “We came here after so long and... Is everything alright?”

“Perfectly! Perfectly alright,” Luke assured them. “They’re just a bit... private. Queen City can be a bit of a madhouse.”

“Hm,” Roger didn’t argue with that statement.

“Very well,” Brian conceded, touching his husband’s arm, “so when can we go and see them? Where do they live?”

Luke looked up in alarm. “You want to go visit?”

“Of course, we do! Why do you think we came all this way, Luke? Because of some concerts, cheering and parties? We get those on Earth.” Brian sighed. “Look, I can only respect your parents’ wish but I’m sure they want to see us too.”

“Nobody stops them from coming,” Luke said, trying to avoid eye-contact. “But this is how it is. It’s not that they can’t see you, they don’t want to see you.”

“They WHAT?” Roger exclaimed so furiously several heads turned his direction. “Don’t want to see us? They don’t WANT to? Bloody wankers!”

“Roger, calm down!” Brian hissed, but his face seemed no less distressed. He turned to Luke, aching for explanations. “Why? Did they... we... did they do, did we do something wrong? I mean, I understand if they want to keep themselves private, but it surely can be arranged.”

“They’ve made it clear,” Luke insisted quietly. “They won’t meet with you, and no one besides me and my sister can tell you anything more about them. If I can offer a piece of  
advice... enjoy your stay here and forget them.”

Roger let out a soft wounded sound. “Why?” 

“Deaky was my best friend,” Brian insisted, though his voice was shaking. “I’m sure he-”

“Then I beg you, respect their decisions. Uncle Bri...,” Luke swallowed, “please, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve been gone for a very long time. Things changed.”

Brian reached out and grabbed Luke’s wrist. “Can you at least give us a contact?” he asked, hazel eyes sad and pleading. “If we have a conversation, then I’m sure whatever this is... it can be explained.”

During a long silence, they just stared at each other, and every second Roger’s throat tightened a bit more. 

Until Luke nodded. “Alright, I... give me a second...,” quickly he reached in his pocket for a pen and grabbed a napkin from a nearby table to scribble a number. “That’s father’s. John’s,” he specified. “Just... keep it for yourself.”

“We will,” Brian smiled in gratitude. “Don’t worry.”

“I don’t think he’ll answer calls, but... maybe texts,” Luke sighed. “Maybe. I really wish I could help you more, but understand... my family...” He lowered his head and his eyes seemed wet. “So, if it’s... all... I need to go, it’s late.” And walked out of the room so quickly it looked more like a desperate run for freedom.

“What’s going on, Rog...,” Brian whispered and clutched the napkin in his hand.

Roger sighed. “I don’t know, Bri... But we’ll figure out.”

Brian took out his phone and sent a quick text to John right after he and Roger got in the privacy of their luxurious suite. Roger only threw his tie and jacket aside and disappeared in the bathroom. He felt he needed to wash the dirt of that day away as soon as possible.

_Hello, Deaky, it’s Brian. As you surely know, we arrived on Queen and would very much like to see Freddie and you, it’s been a long time. -Bri_

He didn’t expect to get an answer any time soon, it was already late. Red light of Almira shined through their curtains. Brian smiled fondly when he remembered how utterly overwhelmed Roger was by his first sunset and night on Earth. Well, not the completely first one, as they’d been held in a quarantine without windows for the first two weeks. But the first one he could actually see. The sun going down, and darkness that followed... Much later Roger admitted he’d felt like he could just fly away from the ground and back into space without the sky above. So, they started sleeping with a nightlight on, and now, after fifty years, it was still very much in use.

Brian sighed and moved his aching wrist, when suddenly, his phone peeped with an incoming message. 

_Dear Brian, I’m very happy you came to Queen so you and Roger can enjoy reviving all our memories. About your request, we are both truly touched, but I don’t think it can be arranged under any circumstances. You stay in our thoughts and prayers, but things of the past are better left in the past. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay nonetheless. J.D._  


What? Some faint hope Brian put into the message crumbled like a house of cards and then set on fire. He didn’t understand it, something... Something was wrong, somehow...

Roger got out of the shower, smelling of oranges, all wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, white hair wet. Wordlessly, Brian gestured him closer and showed the message from John.

“Can’t be arranged under any circumstances,” Roger read out loud, frowning, “that’s quite defensive.”

Brian kneaded his forehead, feeling distinctly an onset of a proper headache. “I think so too. Just... this isn’t normal, it can’t be.”

“It’s not,” Roger agreed and sat down heavily on their wide bed. “When I had a chat with Anita, she told me about a group of terrorists, Double Q or something, who hate all things Earth. They did that stunt with that statue. Good fucking riddance, but still-”

“A group of terrorists?” Brian repeated sharply. “Queen terrorists? Are they dangerous?”

Roger glared at him. “Judging from today, hm... no, they aren’t. I think they’re that kind of terrorists handing out puppies and words of love.”

“I mean, think about it,” Brian ignored the answer and sat down next to his husband, eyes lit up. “There’s a group of dangerous people hating everyone from Earth. So, how do you think they feel about someone who brought them here? Someone who built a damn Deaky Transmitter with his name on it?”

Roger quickly understood. “Do you think Double Q threatens them?”

“What if they’re not hiding who-knows-where in the country just because?” Brian continued with growing vigour. “What if they have to?”

“But why wouldn’t they want to meet us?” Roger opposed. “It makes no bloody sense!”

“We’re on display, Rog!” Brian gesticulated around. “All the people, journalists, cameras – and wherever we go, they go! Double Q would find them in a heartbeat! Luke’s protecting them.”

“So, what do we do?” Roger turned to him. “Should we just run away from here?”

“Run?”

“All those officials are just a bunch of wankers anyway and even Anita is questionable at least.”

Brian sighed. “Roger, just because you hated the statue-”

“Oh, no, I didn’t hate it, I loved it!” Roger spread his arms in a sarcastic gesture. “In fact, we should have one made at home, just like that one, and put it on our front lawn!”

“You’re upset.”

“Oh, what gave me away?”

Brian shook his head. “No running. And calm down, we need to think about it. Ask some questions, find out more about those people... We don’t know enough to make a good plan.”

Roger nodded and slowly slid his hand over his husband’s back. “This... certainly isn’t how I imagined our stay to go,” he sighed. “Double Q aside. I know it’s stupid, but I hoped it would still be... home. But it’s just another place. It changed, way too much.”

“It’s just a first day,” Brian smiled and leaned in to give Roger a soft kiss. “You’ll find your old place under the new facade, I know you will.”

“Hmm... I suppose.” Roger hummed and for a moment they just sat in a quiet embrace, until Roger drew his husband closer. “Come to me,” he asked, and his eyes sparkled. “There’s another couple of old places I’d love to visit. Let’s worry tomorrow.”

Brian smiled but heaved himself up instead. “I’ll have a shower,” he pressed a kiss on Roger’s forehead. “Then I’ll join you. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw For those who haven't noticed, the names of chapters are either names of songs or lyrics from solo careers of Queen members ;-)


	5. Unblinking Eye

Gwilym should’ve gone home. After being released from a hospital in late evening hours it would be the only reasonable thing to do. Blue bump on his head hurt and he’d swear he could still smell the fabric of his suit that had caught fire.

So... of course he didn’t go home.

Cool Cat embraced him with the familiar atmosphere of people, food, stale air of an old building, rock music and liquor. Gwilym breathed in with joy.

“Gwilym!” Belisha rushed towards him, making her way among the guests like a small rusty bulldozer, woolly slippers flapping against the floor. Her grey eyes radiated anxiety. He never saw her so distraught.

“I’m alright, Belle!” Gwil quickly defended himself. “I swear!”

“You need a drink,” she nearly dragged him to the bar, holding his elbow like he was a boy who had accidentally walked in heavy traffic. “I saw it on TV, everybody did, May and Taylor, the explosion and... are people alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gwil nodded, “it was... far enough from everyone. Some security guys spend a day or two in a hospital, but...”

“Oh, thank God,” Belisha sighed, rubbing her face. Her lipstick got smudged. “Thank god...” She drew two glasses from under the bar, poured two very decent-sized shots of vodka, pushed one to Gwilym and emptied hers in one swig. Then she hurried around the bar again, back to Gwil, and leaned in closer, clutching her fake pearls. “How are they?” she whispered.

Gwilym couldn’t deny himself a cheeky smile. “I didn’t know you cared so much. Should I be -ah!” he yelped when the old woman slapped his arse.

“Let’s not get distracted,” she pushed his glass closer to him, “talk.”

Gwilym responded with a flirty wink. “I don’t swing that way, Belle, but I’m flattered. We have to stay just friends.”

“Oh, aren’t we sure. My dear boy,” Belle chuckled, “forty years ago, I would destroy you.”

“No doubt,” Gwilym agreed. “They were... alright, I guess,” he shrugged. “Not really chatty, but nicer than I expected. Seemed happy together, happy to be here – but that was before the statue, I haven’t seen them since. Somehow... smaller than I imagined. Civil. And... I don’t know, both exactly what I pictured - and not quite. Easy to imagine they led the Revolution, but that happened a really long time ago.”

Belisha snorted. “I’d slow down here, if I were you. During the Revolution I got already proposed to.”

Gwilym took the hint. “But you must’ve been sooo young!” he gasped. “They look way older than you, waaaay older.”

“Flatterer,” Belisha rolled her eyes with a chuckle and got back behind the bar to serve some more incoming guests.

Roger couldn’t sleep. Which was strange, because insomnia was more Brian’s problem than his. He couldn’t even count how many times he had awoken in the middle of the night or an early morning to find his husband awake, writing something down, reading, or, in worst cases, just staring blankly in front of him. In those situations, Roger’s self-imposed duty had been clear. Brian’s nightmares never went away, not really. 

So, why is the old good poodle-head sleeping like a baby while Roger can’t?

He tried counting sheep but got bored pretty quickly. His body felt awake and energised, more than usual. Roger knew very well what it was... During the last ten or even more years he and Brian started slowing down their tempo, heading towards a retirement like two worn out ships heading for a safe harbour. But now, they headed on the sea, in full duty. He was never one to leave friends behind. There was a problem, the more challenging, the better – and Roger Taylor intended to fix it.

No, he couldn’t sleep now. He wouldn’t wait any longer.

As quickly as he could, he got dressed again, and considered to wake Brian, but then decided against it. Let him sleep. Roger opted for a note.

Four men in black standing at both ends of the corridor were probably meant for protection, but luckily, when Roger gestured them to stay, they obeyed without many complaints. He slipped away through the back staircase and then fire escape to avoid possible sneaky paparazzi and unnoticed got out.

Finally, freedom. Roger breathed it in with pleasure and took his time to curiously look around.

In the narrow gaps between tall houses, the red light of Almira illuminated the shimmering haze of pollution. Apparently, the weak star provided less light than people would prefer because there were also thousands of street lights causing the dense mass of skyscrapers glitter. And countless neon billboards advertising this or that, flickering names of restaurants and other establishments inviting potential customers, the lights and colours seemed endless. People were needle points and cars were blood cells flowing through the veins of the city. 

Roger was trying to take it all in, all the sights, noises and feelings of rush it evoked. Despite the time, the hustle and bustle never came to a halt. 

He just walked out on the street, decided to let a chance take him wherever, but after few minutes he realized that wasn’t an actual option. No, not for the fact that he was in his seventies and unused to long walks, but because of his hurt knee, thank you very much. He had to lean against a wall of some posh inner-city restaurant to rest and noticed a small sign “Earth only” next to the door. What was that about? Looking left and right once again, as if the explanation was to just pop out of thin air, Roger realized there was a long line of taxis waiting in a side alley. 

Quickly, he made a decision and approached one. “Hello, there.”

The driver glanced over Roger’s expensive clothes and quickly got out of the car to open the door for him.

“Good evening, sir,” he smiled. “Please. Where would it be?”

Roger hesitated. “Actually... how much do you make for a night?”

The driver blinked. “Excuse me, sir?”

“How much money,” Roger patiently elaborated, “do you earn for a night of driving?”

“Ehm... around a hundred dollars, sir,” he said, “please, sir, if you’re-”

Roger quickly reached in his pocket. “Here, three hundred. And I want to borrow the car.”

“But sir, I can’t do that!”

“Is the money not enough?” Roger asked. He knew that searching for a place to actually rent a car would take him most of the night. And there was always the concern he’d get recognized, or the bodyguards might finally realize one of their charges got out without any protection and give a quick end to his adventure.

After few minutes of negotiations, the driver left with the money and Roger victoriously sat down behind the wheel. Even this little night-time escapade made him excited and giddy. It reminded him of those old days on Queen when he’d driven around the town just to calm down after a rough day. Many times, he’d gone out to the desert, not because of the silence, but there used to be a long empty road going east straight to New Lynn – there he had been able to drive freely, as fast as possible. What a life. 

Roger wondered if it was still there. With how the town expanded... probably not. 

But still, he headed from the centre and east. He wanted to see for himself, maybe before they’d visit those places with Brian. Strange. Even after more than fifty years together, some things were still too intimate to share.

After more than fifteen minutes of drive, Roger went alert the city was changing. Houses became lower, older, neglected and dilapidated. Of course, every city had good and bad neighbourhoods, but this... it just surprised him.

The streetlights became scarcer and at least half of them didn’t work, so rarely any of the weak red light got into the narrow streets. Roger frowned and slowed down, trying to avoid potholes. The whole neighbourhood seemed just so dark and unwelcoming, as well as the people walking on the shady streets, giving his car sour glances. One of them even shouted some slur. The whole thing about terrorists, which, despite the statue incident, felt just so unrealistic, suddenly got much clearer shape. Yes, he could imagine a nest of violent haters being bread in a neighbourhood like this.

Quickly, Roger turned left to alley that seemed a bit more lit. It was also wider and... ooh, that’s why.

He sighed, wondering why the hell from all the Queen City he had to get himself to a red-light district. Lewd figures were flaunting themselves on the street, trying to sell their bodies to whoever drives around, and Roger gritted his teeth. Colourful lights above door flickered, inviting everybody around for a drink and... well, the other stuff. From somewhere close, Roger could hear a simple beat of music which compensated with noise whatever it lacked in quality. 

There used to be no prostitutes on Queen before. But then... there weren’t many other things. With a demand, supply always comes. On Earth, this was the oldest profession.  
Roger decided he didn’t have to know everything. To see what happened so close to his previous home... he used to live in the area... maybe thank god he tried to check for himself first, going through this street with Brian... ugh, no, thanks. 

He pulled over, thinking where it would be most convenient to turn around, when suddenly, his eyes fell on a rusty bronze desk attached to the closest of houses. 

HERE LIVED ROGER TAYLOR 

Roger blinked. Especially when he noticed the small addition some vandal wrote in big black capitals: “Who cares?”

Who cares? Roger quickly diverted his eyes from the text, feeling sick. Wrinkly hands on the stirring wheel tightened, and he honestly wasn’t sure should he explode in anger or tears. Both seemed equally pointless. He felt winded. Who cares? The whole day were people around dropping hints and now he could see black on white. 

Who cares? 

Abandonment and rustiness of the desk gave him the answer. No one. Absolutely fucking no one.

“Well, hello, beautiful.”

Roger nearly jumped up and just stared at the prostitute that all the sudden leaned against his car, smiling. He hadn’t been in such situation for quite a while now. “Ehm...”

Prostitute’s grin got even wider. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy,” the boy – because it was a boy – teased, running his hand up his thighs and perky arse, “isn’t this what you came here for? A remedy for worries...”

Roger frowned. “I’m a bit too married at the moment.”

“That’s a worry indeed,” the prostitute chuckled. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Hmm, a good man,” high heels creaked against the pavement when the prostitute leaned even closer, though making sure Roger’s view of his arse in miniskirt stayed unobstructed, “I love myself a good man who’s a bad boy deep inside. A bad... bad boy...,” he purred.

“Get in the car,” Roger quickly decided. “Now.”

The prostitute perked up and scuttled to the passenger seat. “Or do you want me in the back, love-”

“Just get in.”

The boy obliged and settled himself as per his customer’s wishes. Roger took a closer look at his prize.   
Really young, he realized, maybe twenty-five, though... tough life of a streetwalker tended to make people look older, so perhaps even less. The boy was also rail-thin, so all the lewd gestures showing up his non-existent assets came out more pathetic than anything else. Outlines of the boy’s ribs and clavicles shined sharply in deep cleavage. Tawdry clothes seemed old and worn-out and Roger realized the boy had to be really cold, standing outside in just that. Maybe he had a jacket somewhere? His eyes fell on boy’s naked, stick-like arms and he noticed several nasty bruises in a vague shape of large hands.

The prostitute was used to be looked at, so waited patiently, but then leaned closer to Roger. “So... what would you like, sugar? Such a strong, handsome man like yourself... I can’t wait to see what you have in your trousers. You make me so... so hungry for your cock...”

His smell was a combination of cheap perfume, smoke and a lack of hot water. Roger tried not to breathe, averting his eyes, and noticed several forgotten drops of someone’s sperm on the streetwalker’s skirt, threatening to get impressed on the car seat. He gulped, trying to chase away the sudden nausea.

The boy didn’t fail to notice how Roger slowly recoiled. Just for a second his facade of confident seduction fell. But then – smile back on. “Do you want me here, sugar, or elsewhere?” he asked. “I know some quiet places...”

Roger sighed. “Stop it. That’s not what I want, I won’t touch you.”

If that was supposed to calm the boy down, it really didn’t. He had his experience with customers who wanted “something else” – it usually turned out to be way worse.

“You... like to watch?” he guessed in faint hope. 

“What’s your name?” Roger asked in return.

There was another attempt for a smile. “Joe, sweetheart,” the prostitute fluttered his eyelashes, “my name is Joe. And how should I call you?”

“Whatever you want,” Roger waved his hand and handed Joe several notes. “Take this, for starters. And fasten your seatbelt.”

Joe quickly hid the money and did as told when Roger started the engine back up and set out to the traffic. For several minutes they were quiet, until Roger zig-zagged out of the worse part of that neighbourhood to area which look at least a bit decent.

“You know...,” he started, eyes still fixed on the road, “you don’t have to be scared of me. I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not scared,” Joe answered a bit petulantly. “And you can do whatever you want, just... no kissing on the mouth. Unless... you pay extra, then it’s ok. And no spanking that breaks the skin, that’s extra.”

Roger sighed. “Got it. Look, Joe... do you know the area well?”

Joe nodded. “Quite well. I live here my whole life. If you need somewhere-”

“I just want to talk,” Roger emphasized, hoping to get the point across. “I’m... new to this place, I’d appreciate if you sort of... walk me through it.”

“What do you mean?” Joe frowned. “I... you know I’m a slut, right? Not a city guide.”

“If I wanted a city guide, I’d get one. But I’d rather someone who’ll be honest with me.”

Joe wasn’t really sure where this was going, but the money in his pocket felt pleasantly real, so he nodded.

“Tell me...,” Roger decided to go straight for the question and not lose any more time, “... what’s Double Q?”

“I don’t know,” Joe answered too quickly to make it anywhere near plausible.

Roger chuckled. “You’re such a bad liar...”

Joe looked at him, startled. “Please! Please, I don’t know them, I swear!”

“Don’t swear,” Roger stopped on red lights, fingers drumming a melody on the stirring wheel. “I’m really just asking. I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong and I’m not... police or anything anyway.”

Joe snorted. “Yeah, I guess. Police wouldn’t wear such fancy suit. Who are you? I mean...,” he backed off a bit, “don’t get me wrong, I usually... don’t ask questions, but then... nobody asks me. You came because of a job? Or you retired? Lots of rich Earthers work in Mincager, did you?”

Roger had no idea what Mincager was, but his nod seemed to calm Joe down. “So... what’s Double Q? They just talked about them on TV and I...”

“Well...,” Joe shrugged, “just from what I heard, they’re this group of Queenies trying to upset the government. Nasty stuff.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah – I mean, they say they want the best for Queen, but what does it help to blow up a street or a building or a mine or kill people...,” Joe shook his head. “You guys hate them, but honestly, most of Queenies aren’t such fans either. Double Q’s just causing trouble, even when it’s supposed to be on our side.”

“In what way?” Roger asked.

“They want all the Earthers out of here,” Joe explained. “Queen for Queenies – that’s what Double Q stands for.”

Roger nodded and cleared his throat. So far it made sense. Though that didn’t mean he liked a word he heard. “So, they... hypothetically... wouldn’t be fans of May and Taylor?”

Joe chuckled. “Nobody’s a fan of those two bastards. I mean,” he quickly added, “I know you Earthers love them, in your place I would too, but, hey, you asked for honesty.”

“Yeah...,” Roger repeated heavily, eyes fixed on the road, “... I asked for that. And... Mercury and Deacon?”

Joe turned a bit towards him, confused. “Who?”

“Mercury and Deacon,” Roger repeated slowly. “Those other two. One of them built Deaky Transmitter, it’s named after him. You know that one?”

“Yeah sure!” Joe quickly nodded. “That transmitter. About three hours of drive that way,” he vaguely pointed outside.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t know it was named after a guy!” Joe marvelled at the fact. “But then, well, sorry, maybe I’m not the right person. I never went to some school... I mean – the one where they have history and... chemistry and...,” his imagination apparently ended there, “... and stuff,” he finished. 

“You didn’t?” 

Joe blushed under Roger’s surprised glance.

“I can read!” he got defensive. “And write and... count... I’m a Queenie, but that doesn’t have to mean I’m illiterate! We’re not as retarded as you guys think.”

“I don’t think anything, Joe,” Roger said. “I’m a Queenie too.”

Joe looked at him incredulously and his mouth twisted with a chuckle. “No, you’re not! Good joke, though.”

“I am!” Roger protested. “Why the fuck is it so hard to believe? This is my home, I was born here, for fuck’s sake!”

Joe recoiled. “Sorry,” he peeped. “I just... you’re dressed this fancy and you have all this money...”

“Queenies don’t have that?” 

“You’re not from Mincager,” Joe huddled, looking away. “And I don’t know who the fuck you are, but yeah, Queenies don’t have that. We’re wrong, weak, sick and good for nothing, and we live in all this shit while you drive cars and eat... fruit and... ice cream... and you get money and doctors and books and it’s so fucking unfair... I’m sorry, I didn’t... didn’t...,” Joe sobbed, and tears suddenly welled up in his eyes, “I’m sorry... sorry,” he hid his face in his hands, “sorry... sorry... didn’t mean to...”

Roger quickly pulled over to a side street and thought of a hug but decided against it. Considering Joe’s profession, surely the boy got enough unwanted touches. 

“Yes...,” Roger mumbled softly, “it sounds unfair... and I... I’m so sorry...”

He felt just awful, awful and ridiculous. In the very moment he wanted nothing more than take the boy in, put him in a hot bath and fill him to the brim with fruit or ice cream or any of those lavish treats they had gotten at the reception not even three hours ago.

Joe slowly put himself together, especially when Roger laid more money on his lap. 

“That’s...,” he looked up, teary eyed, “...too much, sir.”

“No, it’s not,” Roger assured him. “Get yourself something nice.”

For a moment, Joe thought about it. Maybe he and Ben could get some better food for few days, that sounded pretty good... or – would this be enough for a new mattress? Not new, obviously, but new for them, some that’s not riddled with mildew.

Suddenly, Joe’s stomach rumbled, and the boy blushed. “Sorry...”

“Are you hungry?” Roger asked.

Joe quickly shook his head, earning a raised eyebrow. 

“Alright then,” Roger sighed, thinking, “you’re not, but I am,” he lied. “So – where could a Queenie get a drink and some food? You come with me, keep me company. I’ll pay for your time.”

“Ehm...,” Joe decided to try his luck. “There’s a place not far from here, Cool Cat. They’re good and cheap, and...,” his eyes lit up a bit, “there’s Adam Lambert’s show tonight. He’s amazing, you know.”

Roger chuckled. “I see you’re a fan.”

“He’s freakishly good,” Joe assured him, excitement leaking through his words. “Weren’t he a Queenie, he could really become something.”

“Cool Cat it is,” Roger agreed, and fumbled in his pockets. There was a tiny chocolate their hotel had put on pillows as a greeting treat. “Here. Before you get some real food.”

Joe unwrapped the candy a bit suspiciously, but when he smelled it, his eyes nearly rolled back into his head. “Holy shit...,” he whispered. Quickly, Joe broke it in half, hid one and took a bite of the other.

Roger chuckled, even though deep inside, he felt far, far from happy.


	6. Everything Is Broken

Roger liked Cool Cat from the moment Joe dragged him through the door. There was something earthly about it, though one didn’t have to be a genius to figure all local guests were Queenies. 

“Great, he hasn’t started yet,” Joe whispered and tugged on Roger’s elbow. “Come, there’s a table back in the corner, people won’t see us.”

Roger nodded and followed his lead. He knew Joe’s discretion was coming from the fact no one wanted to be seen with prostitutes in public, and though it wasn’t exactly the case here, he felt grateful nonetheless. If someone recognized him, the fun would be over. 

The table was small, hidden in a corner, quite near a small stage. Spangles on Joe’s top flickered in the dim light.

“Here,” Roger gave the redhead some money, not even counting. “Go, and order anything you want.”

Joe blinked. “You mean...”

“By anything I mean anything,” Roger looked over to the bar to see a blackboard with menus, but all was blurry. It’s been a while since his last laser eye surgery, time to start wearing glasses again. Not that he’d ever admit that. “And hurry, or you miss the show!”

Joe quickly zig-zagged through the crowd. Some of the customers glanced at him with a mild disdain, but most of them simply didn’t care. And Joe couldn’t care less, even if everybody stared. He was warm, rich, and he was to see Adam Lambert’s show. This evening easily made his top ten. Maybe even top three.

“Hey, Lucy,” he grinned, shining like a new lightbulb, and tried to look nonchalant putting money on the desk. “Tonight is yours?”

The young barmaid chuckled. “Belle’s just in the back. Gwil offered to help unpack some new deliveries and she never lets anyone in the storeroom unsupervised. It’s hard enough to keep the cats away. What about all the cash, where’d you get it?” Her glance fell to the notes on the desk. “Someone’s pocket?”

“No!” Joe protested. “It’s a work thing, he just...,” he hesitated. “What do you think rich guys like?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Their cock sucked?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “To eat and drink, he told me to get stuff. And besides – no sucking cock. He didn’t wanna, and I mean...,” he shrugged, “it’s not a money thing, and honestly... I thought maybe he can’t and won’t say it. Like – can’t do it. I’ve seen that before, that old blokes go to us to try and-” he showed a thumb down. “I guess he lost the courage before even taking the pants off and now is trying to mask it. But he’s a nice guy.”

“Oh, poor dear,” Lucy clicked her tongue. “You head back, I’ll bring the... stuff.”

Around the time Lucy brought a large tray with drinks and dinner to Joe’s and Roger’s table, in Cool Cat’s storeroom Gwil broke in another fit of a violent cough provoked by all the dust.

“Just keep your gobs away from the food,” Belisha mumbled and lifted several heavy boxes.

Gwil wiped away the tears and cleared his throat. “Th-thanks for the concern.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

“I really won’t,” Gwil grabbed a wet cloth Belle had tossed him earlier and scrubbed the empty shelf clean. “Is this really necessary? I mean... it’s Adam’s show tonight, the pub is full, and you drag me down here to do work that could’ve been done literally any other time.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Which would be equally effective as doing it now,” she said, “– hold this.”

Gwil quickly took the box Belisha handed him and could only watch how the old frail woman climbed on a ladder to reach top shelves. Her fuzzy slippers were right at his eye level.

“- the point I’m trying to make,” she continued, “is that you came to me, had three shots, and then started crying about what a failure of a good-for-nothing human being you were.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Gwil scowled, but very quietly. “And I still don’t see the point.”

“The point is that as long as you’re good for holding boxes,” Belisha looked down in his eyes, “there’s still a speck of hope for you.”

Despite his ill mood, Gwilym chuckled. “Thanks, Belle. Good to know I’m at the forklift level.”

“And I’m very proud of you. Hand them to me, one by one. Careful.”

“Should I go up?” Gwilym offered.

Belle just let out a short laugh. “Gwilym, I’m able to do many things for my age, but lifting above my head isn’t one of them. Just do what I say and hurry up.”

“What’s in them?” Gwil inquired, shaking one of them. They felt so heavy.

“Cheese,” Belisha replied. “Come on, boy, standing on a ladder isn’t as comfortable as it looks, you know?”

Gwil raised an eyebrow. “And those other ones?”

“There’s cheese in all of them.”

“What?”

“There’s never enough cheese.” Belle put the first box up the shelf with a grunt. “Ugh, my back... I remember the day we bought our first cheese from the Earth’s ships. After years and years of those stupid algae...,” her eyes lit up with the memory when she smiled. “Children were so excited, I remember, all of them. Not as much as when they tried chocolate, but... still. We celebrated.”

“I didn’t know you had children,” Gwil frowned. “What-”

“Doesn’t matter,” she stopped him, and her back seemed somewhat stiffer than before. “Many people have children. Now, the other boxes.”

“You just never talked about them, so-”

Belisha frowned with growing impatience. “Boxes. Now.”

The air in Cool Cat was getting hotter and staler as people kept coming. Roger was silently glad he and Joe had come early enough to get a comfortable place to sit and order in reasonable time. He liked the place. It had a strange feel and reminded of a Moon Base Bar, one of the lower floors. Brian used to take him there once a year. Over the course of their marriage, it became an unspoken anniversary. 

Now, in another world, Roger was leaning against the backrest of his chair, looking at Joe, who found himself just in the middle of his second plate of sausages and mashed potatoes. Three strong drinks flushed the boy’s cheeks and made him chatty. He stopped talking only to take another bite.

“... and they decided to get all the children vaccinated, there was a huge uproar about that. Prime Minister Dobson agreed the schools would be separated, so chicken pox would stay in Earth ones. But it all went to shit, as you can see,” Joe shrugged and swallowed a huge chunk of sausage. “And she never did anything against that since. You know, it’s not like people don’t like her,” he emphasized, “but some say she’s way too careful. Too soft. And too weak to stand against Singer, I mean, what can she do?”

“Some people?” Roger leaned forward. “You mean Double Q?”

“Yeah, them,” Joe nodded and took a gulp of his drink. Apparently, no one ever bothered to teach him table manners, but after that snobby reception at the hotel, Roger found the young prostitute refreshing. “You should hear my friend Ben. He thinks Double Q should start a new revolution, even bigger than the one fifty years ago. Queenies would get rid of all the Earthers in important places, then make themselves a political party and rule the planet.”

Roger sighed. “Delightful. I used to think revolutions were something heroic. You ask you friend if he’s ready to gamble with everything he holds dear for some greater good. Revolutions mean chaos, and chaos tends to end up in every possible way. Is he also a- eh... the same profession as you are?”

“A hooker?” Joe chuckled. “He used to. We grew up like brothers, our mums walked the streets together. And we... didn’t have much of a choice. You know... you can say it how it is, man, I’m not offended. It’s what I am, and still better than working in the mines.”

“Rhenium mines?” Roger knew the mining had been renewed soon after the Earthers got to Queen, and the income from rhenium trade made a majority of Queen’s GDP.

“Yeah... rhenium mines,” Joe scratched his head and his smile got a bit darker. “Shitty places. Don’t ask me about details but they say rhenium is radioactive... or something..., so they can’t use robots to do the hard work. It disturbs the wireless control or... eh... stuff.” He shrugged with an apologetical smile. “I don’t know. Anyway, Queenies to go there with pickaxes and shovels... I heard there’s dark and dust everywhere. They can’t make the corridors too wide because of the wobbly terrain, so the miners must crawl on all fours... I heard. It’s a sure job though, when you’re desperate. I’ll end up going there, I suppose...,” Joe contemplated and finished his drink in one swig, “... y’know... so far, I look decent, but can you imagine anyone’d wanna shag me when I’m like forty? Not happening.”

Roger made a face and thought of Brian. He wished he could be back in the hotel, with him, and not here, listening to the tipsy boy whose words stung with their honesty. He must be really getting old.

“You won’t end up there,” Roger said, earning a confused look.

“What makes you say that?”

After a moment of silence, Roger shook his head. “I don’t know.” He clenched his fists in a wave of helplessness.

Joe snorted. “You act like it’s your fault. I wasn’t born to the right people, shit happens, and the sooner one accepts it the better. And- Oh, he’s here!”

Roger had to blink at the sudden cheer of the crowd when a young man dressed in an outrageously cut costume walked out on the small stage in the corner. 

“Adam!” Joe screamed. “Adam! Look here! Adam!”

Adam Lambert gave everybody a wide smile and his eyes under heavily painted lids sparkled. He seemed to be buzzing with energy and joy from being right there right that moment. It reminded Roger of another singer he used to know, long ago.

“Hey, hey hey!” Adam grinned and spread his hands over the crowd. “It’s great to see you all lovely lot, it’s been a while! You guys having fun?”

“YEAH!”

“Aww,” Adam pouted, “how could you have any fun without me. But don’t worry, ladies and gentlemen of Queen, because tonight, we’re gonna ROCK THIS PLACE UP!”

Roger let the crowd’s excitement take over him as he watched the boy on stage, but during the first chords and lyrics, his breath hitched.

_“It's so easy, but I can't do it! So risky, but I gotta chance it! It's so funny, there's nothing to laugh about....”_

It almost sounded as if... Roger felt his heart beating faster.

_“I can see what you want me to be, but I'm no fool! It's in the lap of the Gods! Whoa, whoa, la la la, whoa! I can see what you want me to be.... But I'm no fool... It's in the lap of the Gods! Whoa, whoa, la la la, whoa! Whoa, whoa, la la.... Whoa, whoa, ooh!”_

“Joe!” Roger hissed. “Joe, who’s writing songs for this guy?”

“What?” the boy unwillingly turned his eyes from the stage. “Who knows.”

In the meantime, in the dusty storeroom, the last box was safely on a shelf and to Gwil’s endless relief Belisha finally got down from the ladder. Through the wall they could hear the cheering crowd and a heavy beat of Adam’s performance.

“By the way,” Gwil had to speak up to be heard, “I’ve got something in my car, just the usual. Should we unload now, since everyone’s looking elsewhere?”

Belle nodded, when suddenly they heard a knock on the door leading to a small backyard. Loud and sloppy knock followed by silence.

The two exchanged looks.

“Hello!” Belisha called carefully. “Is anybody there?”

Another quiet knock.

“Oh, shit,” she mumbled and hurried to the door. “Gwilym, with me.”

Gwil learned long ago not to ask Belisha any questions unless necessary, so he did as was told, just bracing himself for whatever. But nothing could prepare him for the sight once the old woman opened.

It was Ben. 

But largely different from when Gwil saw him the last time. Now he looked like a wreck, huddled on the ground in front of the door, soaked in sweat and covered in something glossy and slippery, like oil. His face and movements seemed strangely unfocused and just to drive the message home, there was a half-empty bottle in his hand.

“God...,” Gwil whispered, his eyes filled with horror at the sight. 

“God has nothing to do with this,” Belle said and already grabbed Ben from one side. “Make yourself useful and help me get him in.”

Some of that disgusting mixture from Ben’s skin got on Gwil’s suit, but he couldn’t care less. It was more the fresh bruises and Ben’s dangerously swollen shoulder he worried about.

“Belle...,” Ben slurred, half-opening his eyes, and reached out just freely in the air, hoping to get a hold of something not there, “help...”

“I’m here, buddy,” the old woman said sternly. “Gwilym, put him on that bench in the corner.”

Ben stirred. “G-Gwilym, no, not-“

“Shh, it’s ok,” Gwil tried to provide some comfort. Ben was getting heavier every second and, in the end, he was glad he could let go of him. 

Belisha leaned over the collapsed boy and started softly touching him from head to toe, searching for injuries. 

“That’s not the first time you’re doing this, is it?” Gwil’s eyes narrowed.

“I doubt it’s the last,” she replied vaguely.

Gwil bit his lip in anxious thinking. “Who could’ve done this? Some thieves or-“

Belle’s face was glum when she turned around. “As if they’d want him covered in oil and glitter,” she mumbled, “this was a cage-fight.” And without even waiting for a reaction, she gestured to a tap in the corner. “There. You wash him from the worst, I’ll get a kit from upstairs.”

The second she left, Gwil hurried into action. He knew about these cage-fights, or better said – he was aware of their existence. Illegal, low nests of crime and violence with bets high and rules non-existent. Never in his worst nightmares he’d ever imagine Ben ending up there but... here he was. Beaten, broken, kicked and scratched... The organisers had probably covered both opponents in oil to make the fight more interesting... or to make the ripped muscles look better... sweaty and sexy... Gwil thought he’d vomit. And the booze, he’d bet everything he had that the booze was how the wrestlers prepared for the match – to be bolder and more violent, to lack any instincts of self-preservation. Apparently. And of course, to soothe the pain afterwards. Gwil didn’t even have to sniff the bottle to guess it was the cheapest kind of vodka there was, able to burn a hole in one’s stomach.

Oh, Ben...

Softly, Gwilym swiped all the dirt down from the blond’s face and arms, trying to be as gentle as possible. When he got to the t-shirt, he hesitated. There was blood, oil and sweat soaking through it, and one didn’t have to be a doctor to figure it needed attention, though on the other hand... Slowly, Gwil tugged on the lower hem, pulling it up, when Ben suddenly shrieked, waking up from his near comatose state, and pushed him violently away.

“No!”

“Ben! Ben, it’s alright, you’re fine, it’s alright!” Gwil tried to sound comforting while he picked himself up from the floor and raised his hands above his head. “It’s just me... Gwil... it’s me...”

It took a moment or two for Ben to process the information, and the two just stared at each other. One in a perfectly tailored suit, meticulously neat, the other a drunk, bloody mess, nose smashed, and left eye almost shut with swelling. Slowly, Ben wrapped his arms round his middle like he’s holding his guts in place in and to be honest, in that moment Gwil thought he just could be.

“You...,” Ben mumbled, as if his jaw hurt, which it probably did, “what the fuck...ugh...” he touched his forehead and kneaded it. Then he gave it a second look.

Gwil was still there.

“Get the hell out of here,” Ben growled. “Because I swear, you’re the last thing I wanna see. Today just keeps on giving.”

“You’re hurt,” Gwil said, not knowing better, and lifted the cloth in his hand as some kind of proof. “I’m trying to help.”

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Ben said and if looks could kill, Gwil would be lying on the ground already. “I don’t want your help.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need it,” Gwil retorted and threw the cloth in Ben’s lap. “Here. Do it yourself.”

“Why are you even here?” Ben snapped. “This isn’t your part of the City. Shouldn’t you be prancing around the Centre, holding grandma’s skirt in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other?”

“That’s rich coming from you, drunk out your arse, banging on people’s door,” Gwil bristled up, his lips tight. “This is my part of the City as it is yours. And I’d really appreciate if you stop acting like you don’t know me.”

Ben scoffed. “Yeah, sure as hell. And I don’t know you. Not since you told me clearly what you thought of me and all like me.”

“That was ten years ago, even more, Ben,” Gwilym flailed his hands. “It was... different, I didn’t mean-“

“You did,” Ben said and hissed in pain as his swollen shoulder moved.

“Wait, I can-”

“Fuck off!” Ben screamed in drunken fury. “You meant it, and nothing changed since then, and you know what – you’re bloody right! So, get the fuck out of here and leave me be.”

“Ben...,” Gwilym’s throat tightened, “please...”

“What exactly are you begging for?” he murmured, looking away, and took another swig from his bottle.

“Please... let me help,” Gwil said and tried to move a bit closer. “I don’t want anything from you and I... understand why you hate me, but I need to know you’re alright.”

Ben huffed, and his fingers around the washcloth tightened. “Well, I’m freakin’ peachy,” he said. “Too bad this planet’s in such deep shit. If you really want to help, maybe go convince Dobson to get up from her arse and do something.”

“We’re trying,” Gwil insisted, “we really are, she’s doing the best she can, it’s just not that easy-”

“Not that easy!” Ben exclaimed and the washcloth smacked wetly against the wall. “She’s a Prime Minister, what the fuck isn’t easy! If she’s too weak and too old to do anything but welcome foreign assholes and traitors then fine, but she shouldn’t expect everyone to be happy about it! We’re getting scraps of our own planet, and we won’t take it any longer!”

“Ben, please, calm down-“

“Fuck you!” 

Gwilym took several deep breaths to steady himself. “If we’re not careful,” he said, looking right in Ben’s eyes, “things can get worse. Thousand times worse. Don’t you think we don’t see this mess, but the whole thing is a powder keg.”

“High time to light the match then,” Ben replied sternly. “Something must happen. And it will.”

“What are you saying?”

Suddenly, the door squeaked and Belisha walked in, frowning.

“You two can’t possibly be any louder, can you?” she snapped. “Good thing there’s a show in the pub. Ben, stop your shit right now and take down that shirt so I can patch you up. Gwilym, go home, thanks for your help.”

Gwilym blinked. “But...”

“No buts,” Belisha stepped away from the door and pointed at them. “This is still my pub. If you two need to sort out some political melodrama, please, do it elsewhere. Out. Now.”

Gwilym looked like he wanted to negotiate, but the look of Belle’s eyes changed his mind. So, he just quietly wished good night, and slipped out to the corridor. Quickly, so no one would see the tears in his eyes. His skin burned with Ben wedged right underneath it. 

_“I want to break free! I want to break free! I want to break free from your lies, you're so self-satisfied I don't need you, I've got to break free!”_

The pub was in an excited frenzy, singing and screaming while Adam was dancing around among the audience, making a grand finish to his show.

_“God knows, God knows I want to break free!”_

Gwilym absent-mindedly walked in through the back door and leaned against the bar, waiting for Lucy to get him a drink. No matter what, he felt more than ready to get properly drunk tonight. 

But then...

“Oh fuck...,” Gwilym whispered. Nearly all the colour disappeared from his face, when he noticed an old man sitting at the corner table with an apparent prostitute. Today just keeps on giving... Deep inside, he panicked. What do I do? Should I... or not... What to do? What to do?

_“But life still goes on! I can't get used to living without, living without, living without you by my side. I don't want to live alone, hey! God knows, got to make it on my own! So, baby can't you see I've got to break free! I want to break free, yeah, I want, I want, I want, I WANT TO BREAK FREE!”_

Adam let the last tunes sound and then bowed deeply to the screaming crowd.

“Thank you!” he shouted, and his face simply beamed with happiness. “Thank you so much, I love you!”

He walked around the crowd thanking left and right, holding a tip jar while trying to look like the hand around it wasn’t his. Roger noticed how sequins fallen from singer’s frail costume sparkled on the floor.

“I really enjoyed the show,” he ensured him when Adam got to them, and put a rolled note in the jar.

Adam lit up. “Oh, thank you so much, sir, I-“ suddenly, looking at Roger’s face, his eyes widened. “- ...holy shit...”

“Really good show!” Roger quickly continued, hoping the singer would take the hint and quickly added some more tips. “Really. Where did you get the songs?”

“You know,” Adam grinned and shrugged, “some are mine, some-”

“Liar.” Roger’s smile disappeared, replaced by a dangerous scowl. “You know who I am, so you know who my friends are. We used to play together, write together, and I know our work when I hear it. Where did you get the songs? Who gave them to you?”

“I- I, uh...,” Adam stuttered, stepping back, “I don’t remember.”

Roger sighed. Years ago, he’d just break this guy’s face to learn the truth, but now he had to settle for more expensive solutions.

“How much does it take for you to remember?” he asked.

Adam shook his head. “It’s not about money, sir. I really, truly, don’t know. They’re just coming to me, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know. But,” he put on a bright smile again, “I’m so glad you enjoyed the show, so glad!”

And with that, he disappeared in the crowd.

Gwilym’s and Roger’s eyes met.


	7. I Must Be Getting Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody! Finally, I'm back. I apologise for the long hiatus, with the virus going around I was working as a group coordinator of our testing site. But now the worst is (at the moment) behind us, our shifts got shorter, my exams in school are done, and I finally have time for writing again :-) So... I hope this chapter (and all the ones that'll follow) manages to put a bit of a smile on your face even in times like these, good luck to everyone and enjoy!

It was around three in the morning when Roger returned to the hotel, frowned, deep in thought. An emotion kept surfacing in his mind, just one out of all that whirlwind that night had brought. He couldn’t put his finger on it... was it sadness, disbelief, pain? Those were surely there somewhere, but the main one... no, not even anger. Roger could deal with anger, his tantrums were legendary among all people who knew him. It was perhaps the lack of it that worried him the most. He could be angry, and he should, he would... but he was just too tired to properly feel it. Anger meant action, movement, fight and solution but now Roger struggled to light his fire. Tired. Helpless.

The sound of his heavy steps was getting lost in a soft hotel carpet.

Was he getting too old for this? Roger sighed. He felt the lack of sleep combined with emotions weighing him down, his legs moved as if made of lead. He was cold and his back hurt.

Betrayal. That would be it. He felt betrayed – by that day, by everything Joe told him, by himself, by this whole world. It wasn’t at all like they planned it, not how they imagined and dreamed it. All those years on Earth... ignorant and isolated, useless to his home, his world. Winning the Queen’s revolution was supposed to be his life’s work, but now... now? Now what?

Softly, he grabbed the door handle and pressed it, trying to open quietly. With some luck, Brian’s still asleep and doesn’t have to know-

Roger’s eyes met with the ones of his husband the moment he entered. Brian looked over the frames of his glasses and raised an eyebrow. Oh... dammit. He was still in bed, dressed in a fluffy hotel gown, but all the light from his little lamp flooded the room with a soft glow. He would seem quite domestic and comfortable reading a book – if Roger hadn’t known him that well. There was a stiffness in Brian’s shoulders when he looked up.

The couple stared at each other silently, as if having a contest who’d come with a question first. Then Roger solved it by simply closing the door and throwing his coat over a nearby chair as if nothing was off.

“There’s a hanger over there,” Brian said, his face cryptic despite the casual tone.

With a huff, Roger picked the coat up again and hung it where it belonged. “I think I’ll just fall asleep with my shoes on,” he mumbled, “God, I’m tired...”

“Last time you did that you’ve been twenty years younger and even then I remember you complaining the whole day afterwards. Though it could’ve been the tequila’s fault,” Brian returned to the book as if that would fool anybody. 

The tension was almost palpable in the air.

Roger frowned and folded his arms on his chest. “Won’t you ask where I’ve been? It’s after quarter past three in the morning!”

“I’m not your mother, Roger,” Brian replied without even looking up. His shoulders stiffened even more. “So if you decide to wander around a city, alone, in the middle of the night, right after someone tried to kill us, and leave me alone with no note, no nothing so I could just sit here scared shitless thinking over and over what could’ve happened to you – that’s your business. You left your phone here, by the way.”

“I’m sorry,” Roger mumbled, kicked his shoes off and started to unbutton his shirt. “I couldn’t sleep and... I just needed to check on a thing or two.”

Brian didn’t seem to be impressed, though he couldn’t but glance at his half-dressed husband, who gave him a wink in return. 

“Don’t tell me that after all these years I still get your gears going,” Roger quipped and sat down on the bed taking his pants off. Even now, when Brian was clearly pissed off, Roger could feel at least half of the burden he’d carried from his adventure simply melt. It had to be a kind of magic. And though Brian quickly averted his eyes and scoffed, turning back to his book, Roger nestled under the blanket on his side of the bed and sighed in relief.

“Comfortable?” Brian mumbled, hypnotising a single spot on a page.

“Yes, quite,” Roger agreed, and after a short while he added softly: “I love you.”

The book clapped shut.

“Where have you been, Rog?” Brian asked and kneaded his forehead. “Just... why?”

“I’m not sure,” Roger admitted. “I think I had to see everything by my own eyes. And I did.”

“That’s why we came here, to see everything,” Brian frowned. “Was it really necessary to sneak out in the middle of the night, do you realize how I felt when I woke up and you- you just- you’ve been gone? Just like that?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it shook.

“You’ve had another nightmare, didn’t you?” Roger said and his brows furrowed. “You haven’t been having them for quite some time.”

“It’s the change of environment,” Brian pulled his hand back dismissively, “or-”

“Or you know that something is off, just like I do,” Roger jumped in.

“Of course, something is off, Roger! The statue, and Freddie and Deaky-“

“There’s more than that. Things are wrong, Bri. Really, really wrong, and I can’t even-” Roger swallowed, suddenly realizing what he had to tell Brian. Tell him now, tell him that their legacy on Queen meant nothing. And that the world they dreamed Queen to be was a far cry from the dreadful reality. That they fucked up.

Brian didn’t fail to notice the painful change in his husband’s expression, and his face softened in worry.

“Roger? Tell me what happened.”

Roger sighed. “Do you remember... all those years ago... while you were here... do you remember the day before you got captured by the Institute?” Roger asked, and his own voice shook at the memory. “That big fight between us?”

“I remember. Vaguely,” Brian nodded, now very concerned. 

“Well, we really shouldn’t have.”

“Shouldn’t have what?”

“Back then... I told you not to contact Earth as it would... have some consequences,” Roger was searching for the correct words. “And, eh... your told me it wouldn’t happen, that all would be fine. But it isn’t. It... it just so fucking isn’t.”

During a long moment of silence, Brian’s face slowly fell as he watched his husband, seeing his distress. 

“Tell me everything,” he asked quietly. “Please.”

“We hoped people from Earth would come to help Queen,” Roger mindlessly clutched the edge of his blanket, “and together they’d bring up future generations, to a better world. But that’s not what happened. I’ve been to other parts of the city where Queenies live, poor and dirty with no real hope for a better future, not under these circumstances.”

“Rog, how can you know-”

“Joe told me everything. Or at least enough.”

“And Joe is...?”

“A prostitute I picked up. He said-“

“You picked up a prostitute?” Brian sounded something between disbelieving and disgruntled, and grey eyebrows nearly met with his hairline.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bri, that’s the one thing you take from this?” Roger snapped. “If my word makes you feel any better, believe me, I just took him for a meal, probably the first decent meal he had in months, he was skin and bones!”

“Crystal meth tends to do that.”

“He’s not a junkie, Brian! He told me a truth and is perhaps the first person since we arrived here who did so. All the immigrants from Earth get benefits from the government, which – by the way – is besides Anita Earth-only. Did you know only Earthers get to vote here? That only Earthers get to decent schools, to decent hospitals, while Queenies live in houses that are falling apart, trying to make do with scraps? And we brought this on them, no wonder they all hate us. I’d blow us up with a statue myself if I-“

“Roger!” Brian stopped him. “Nothing like that is happening, it can’t be. Anita wouldn’t allow it, Miami wouldn’t allow it, Freddie and Deaky wouldn’t allow it! And we’d know, don’t you think? That Joe you spoke to is a prostitute, you said it yourself, and you gave him food and money, of course he’d come up with a heart-breaking story-“

“Do you really think I’m that naive?” Roger snarled and drew himself back. His face reddened. “And it’s so easy, isn’t it? To just say to yourself “it can’t be” and turn the blind eye. That’s what they want us to do since the minute we arrived. It’s a truth! I’m sick of being the blond alien on Earth and I refuse to be treated like a trash here-“

“No one treats you-“

“Maybe if you pulled their heads out of your arse, you’d hear what they’re saying,” Roger grimaced. “It’s truth but it’s ugly, so who’d trust Roger, that silly naive Queenie who spent his life doing nothing than being a fucking pet of the great doctor Brian May, the hero and saviour of all!”

“What are you saying?” Now Brian looked bewildered. “Roger, I-“

“You think it too, don’t you?” Roger challenged with a scowl. “Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t!” Brian exclaimed in disbelief. “You know I wouldn’t be even alive without you, more than once! You made me the happiest man on Earth when you agreed to marry me and I’m the happiest man on Queen now, as we’re married still. There is no one I would trust over you, I just... just...,” Brian sighed and kneaded his eyes, “... it’s what you said I can’t believe, I can’t believe that... I do believe you, I just...”

“I know,” Roger nodded softly with a hint of truce, “it’s a lot to take in. But if it’s true – and it is – then even the Double Q makes more sense. They say it means Queen for Queenies. They fight for their people.”

“They’re terrorists no matter the cause. Their actions speak for themselves,” Brian frowned. “We can’t sympathize with them.”

Roger shook his head. “I don’t want to, from what Joe said they’re a violent bunch. Even Queenies fear them. Who knows what they’re after.”

“Us, it would seem,” Brian said, “and Freddie and Deaky too. They too brought Earthers here, I doubt Double Q would let that slide. It’s the only logical explanation of why they’re not here.”

“I just hope-“ Roger suddenly went silent and looked away.

Brian squeezed his hand. “They’re alive and well, somewhere,” he said firmly. “I’ve been texting with Deaky just this evening, remember? We’ll have another chat with Luke and make him see reason. He’s protective and I can get behind that but Freddie and Deaky are the reason we came here. And as for the other... issues... we need to know where Anita stands in all this. Get more points of view and keep our eyes open. But now we should sleep, both of us. It’s late.”

Roger nodded and closed his eyes to deflect the oncoming headache. In the darkness he heard a soft clap of the light switch of Brian’s lamp. He slid a bit down to get more comfortable. His husband’s warm presence by his side was something so familiar and calming, he could actually feel content sleepiness slowly taking over. Something he wouldn’t believe was possible.

He heard Brian nestle more comfortably on the left side of the bed and a soft creak of the mattress.

“Rog?”

“Hm?”

“Won’t... you put your pyjamas on? You’re naked.”

Roger chuckled quietly. “I’m aware. It didn’t use to bother you.”

“It bothers me the same way as it used to,” Brian hummed and shifted himself closer. “And I just... one more thing...” he hesitated.

“Yes?” Roger forced his eyes open and met his husband’s worried gaze. “Bri... I’m sorry but if you want something to happen, I don’t think it’s gonna happen today, so-”

“No, no that’s... alright,” Brian said quickly, and caressed Roger’s naked chest under the blanket. “I just – I love you. I really do.”

“I love you too,” Roger said, a bit surprised by Brian’s serious tone. 

“What you said earlier-“

“Bri, you know I was angry, and-”

“No, let me finish,” Brian jumped in and drew himself even closer, now right at Roger’s side. His eyes looked soft and pleading. “Whatever happens, I want you to know I’m on your side. I love you, Rog. And I trust you. And I’ll never let anyone make you feel miserable or treat you wrong.”

“I can take care of myself,” Roger huffed.

Brian saw right through it. “Oh, I know,” he said, smiling. “But I never want you to feel like you need to.”

“You’re a randy old sod.” 

“I love you too.”

Roger rolled his eyes but then just lay still and let his husband administer soft kisses all over his face and upper chest. Long fingers roamed over his belly and groin, touching softly and tenderly. It had always been Brian’s thing, the need to show love and affection to his husband when he felt shaken or unsure. Or after waking up from yet another nightmare. Roger could remember more than one time he'd woken up with Brian nuzzling against his chest, cheeks marked with dry tears.

Finally, Brian settled, and Roger could take him in a tight embrace. “You marked me again, so now you can sleep, you big baby.”

“I’m still mad you went without me though,” Brian mumbled and settled more comfortably as he drifted to sleep.

Roger didn’t even bother to reply.


	8. I Wanna Testify

At least trains haven’t changed, Roger chuckled for himself as he listened to the muffled sounds of the Queen’s railway. All the trains on Earth flew on an electromagnetic field at an alarming speed, creating no friction and making no noise whatsoever, but this was very much not one of them. 

Tall glasses on all the tables were shaking in the rhythm of wheels while the train hurried across the desert. Roger tried to focus on calming noises and just ignore the people around him. That turned out to be not an easy task.

Itinerary of his and Brian’s stay on Queen had been worked up by the government to a detail. For today there was a visit to the famous old Deaky Transmitter scheduled. Not Roger nor Brian had any real complaints about the visit itself, but as much as they were concerned, it didn’t have to include a luxurious private train and an entourage of at least forty most important people of the planet.

That way, the several-hours-long journey turned into another party with champagne, nibbles, life string quartet and waiters in white suits.

“I think I recognize some of the people from yesterday,” Brian mused as he scanned the crowd, “from the unveiling ceremony.”

“One’d think they wouldn’t be so keen about getting anywhere near us,” Roger mumbled.

Brian softly reached for his husband’s hand and pressed it. “Double Q won’t try anything. There’s security everywhere.”

“That’s not the main concern and you know it.” 

Roger looked out of the window. The scenery of blue sand and endless dunes of Queen had something ancient and calming in it. He felt Brian’s warm hand on his shoulder and leaned into the touch.

“Rog...”

“Excuse me?” A sudden female voice interrupted their moment. Brian and Roger turned around. 

Right in front of them, there was a middle-aged couple in top-class tailored clothes, two of many high-class members of their party. The woman in blue flowy dress smiled, showing off her unnaturally bright and long teeth. 

“Doctor May, I hope we’re not interrupting anything. I’d be delighted if you allow us to steal at least a moment as you’re all alone here. Emmeline Kleil,” she reached out her heavily-ringed hand, “minister of infrastructure.” Brian’s hesitant expression apparently deserved that clarification. She shook his hand vigorously. “This is my husband.”

“Thomas Harter,” the man supplied his name. “Such an honour to meet you, doctor May. Your book belongs to my very favourites. A must-have for business meetings.”

“Of... of course, that’s lovely, thank you,” Brian quickly gained his wits back. “Please, madam minister, sir, allow me to introduce my husband, Roger Taylor.”

“Oh, so this is the famous Mr. Taylor,” minister Kleil smiled and looked at Roger with utmost curiosity. “I have to say, yours is the most remarkable love story, doctor May. Nobody here would’ve expected it to last that long. It needs a truly dedicated man.” She winked flirtatiously.

Roger tensed and Brian frowned in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” she spread her arms, “you’ve returned home from your great adventures and stayed with a man from Queen. Even though you could’ve had anyone you wanted. Did you choose to do so to represent unity, or-”

“I could never be with anyone else, Earther or Queenie,” Brian said coldly and straightened himself. “Roger is the reason our revolution was successful, a hero, a great man, and a love of my life.” His voice sounded so heartfelt Roger gave him a surprised look. Brian didn’t belong to the kind of people who’d flaunt their feelings in public, especially feelings for their husband of nearly fifty years.

The minister didn’t notice anything strange, however. “Of course,” she smiled brightly, “it needed a lot of courage of your husband to follow you home. And after years of influence on Earth,” she glanced at Roger, “you’re not that much of a Queenie anymore. I suppose everything’s quite understandable.”

In a split-second, Roger opened his mouth to express very colourfully what he thought of it all, but Brian knew his husband and interfered even quicker.

“What about we have a walk around the train, my lady minister?” he hurried to ask with a forced smile. “We would truly appreciate your help in finding Prime Minister Dobson. I presume she should be somewhere around?”

“I think I saw her in the carriage two,” Thomas Harter said. “With minister Kenneth, Jerry Osmol, Theresa Quarry and Luke and Laura Mercury-Deacons.”

Brian nodded and turned to Roger. “Shall we?”

Roger waved his hand and turned a bit back towards the window. “I think I’ll wait out this one. You guys go.”

“Is your husband always this antisocial?” the minister turned to Brian.

“I don’t think this is my kind of crowd,” Roger replied rather hoarsely. “I need to use the bathroom, anyway, don’t wait for me.” 

Brian hesitated and pressed his lips in concern. “Rog? Are you -”

“Completely,” Roger flashed a bright smile. “I’ll join you soon.”

“Alright,” Brian conceded and pressed a quick kiss on his husband’s lips, “I’ll talk to Anita about... those things we discussed... and get back as soon as I can.”

“Have fun.” 

Roger kept his smile until Brian ushered the annoying couple away and out of the carriage, and then he sat down heavily in a nearby chair. The first hour when he and Brian were the undeniable focus of attention had passed. Now, except for occasional glances in Roger’s direction, all the guests used the time to catch up with others from their social circle, discuss some new policy or a business deal. After all it seemed everybody who was anybody had been invited – politicians, businessmen, bankers, some men and women who looked like models but could be trophy wives... Earthers, Roger guessed, all of them. That goes without saying.

He noticed there was only one man still paying attention to him. A middle-aged, slightly balding man with sharp blue eyes stared at Roger directly and intently but made no move which would suggest he’d want to come closer and talk. 

Roger frowned. He was quite sure he hadn’t seen that man at the unveiling ceremony, but the way the stranger carried himself suggested he had to be someone not entirely unimportant. Finally, the stranger quit his staring and focused on people around him. Were this on Earth, Roger would have no problem whatsoever to walk over there and ask the bloke for his name. But here he was a Queenie, he couldn’t just... Roger stopped in his thoughts. Shit! Did they really get into his head that easily? He didn’t want to be there, in that fucking train, that fucking city, the whole planet could just-

“Mr. Taylor?”

Roger nearly jumped on the spot and the intruder made a quick step back.

“Gwilym,” Roger scolded him, quite breathless. “Jesus bloody Christ, warn a guy!”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Taylor,” Gwil stammered, “I just... I... I saw doctor May in the other carriage, so I thought... I should make sure you don’t need anything.”

“I’m fine,” Roger assured him hoarsely, “I just wanted a minute alone, that’s all.”

“Oh... I see.”

Gwil’s face mirrored quite clearly his inner battle. Should he really leave and let the old man have his requested privacy or stay and try to help? Finally, after an awkward half-a-minute of silence, Roger took mercy and nodded towards the man who captured his attention before.

“Who’s that? Thin, black hair, orange tie?”

“The one on the left?” Gwilym made sure and got a nod as a confirmation. “Charles Warrick, leader of the opposition party. We had to invite him, you understand, but be assured... none of us really wants him here. Or his fellow party members for the matter.”

“He sounds lovely,” Roger hummed and took a glass of wine from the buffet table by his side. “But for the matter, he doesn’t seem to be excited to be here either.”

“Well, he has to be here,” Gwilym said with just a hint of glee in his voice. “This is an official event organised by the Prime Minister. He’d love to see himself in grandma’s chair, you know, and God save the Queen from the day that would happen. The opposition built their campaign on hatred towards Queenies and promoting the new age and rule of the stronger and other shit- oh, I’m so sorry - ...and other political agenda, I wanted to say.”

Roger chuckled and shook his head. “That’s alright. It sounds like shit to me too.”

Gwilym grinned in apology. 

“One would think opinions like that would be popular,” Roger said, thinking about what the younger man just said.

“Not as popular as you might think. Most of the Earthers simply don’t care about Queenies as long as they don’t get in the way. Only minority wants them further restricted, which is our luck. If Queenies start to be a problem, however...”

Roger gave Gwilym a sharp glance. “Are you talking about Double Q?”

“Exactly,” Gwilym shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking restless. “It... it really worries me,” he said. “And my grandmother too. If Queenies remain out of sight, we’re able to protect them. But if Double Q continues what they’re doing, people won’t make a difference between them and Queenies in general – they’ll want them gone. And the opposition offers them just that. There’d be early elections, Warrick would win and then... Quick solutions. Final solutions. I think I don’t have to explain that any further.”

“Don’t bother,” Roger mumbled darkly as his heart sank. “You need to find Double Q. Even personally, we’d be grateful.”

“You’re safe, Mr. Taylor,” Gwilym said softly. “We’ll keep you both safe. I promise.”

“This isn’t about us, Gwilym. But people here...,” Roger shrugged and gestured Gwilym out of the crowded carriage.

They walked through another department and then another, as they ended up at the very end of the train. There was a large round window showing all the surroundings getting further and further away as the train hurried forward.

“We’re alone now,” Gwilym remarked quite unnecessarily. Roger nodded, looking out, but stayed silent. “I just...,” Gwil bit his lip, “...I know you deserve an apology, from everyone here, I... I realize that and I’m so sorry. More than anything I wish it could be different.”

“Then why isn’t it?” Roger looked up, and his blue eyes were stern.

“Many factors, I’d say,” Gwilym said with a vague gesture. “It started some years after the Earthers got here. Queen was still damaged by the revolution, change of political system and fall of RISUGI hit everyone hard. We needed help, and Earthers offered everything - in exchange for rights to all the rhenium on this planet. Prime Minister Beach signed a treaty with general Mulligan, who’d been here as Earth’s ambassador. In the beginning it worked, the Earthers kept their promise. But later, when Queen was ready to get on its own feet... the Prime Minister realized rhenium was the only thing of Queen Earthers would trade with. And we didn’t own any of it. That deal made us all dependent forever. And helpless against anything Earthers might come with. Money mean power. And it all goes from there. There is more. Little steps to end up here. My grandmother, some of her loyal supporters and I, we’re all that’s left from the old establishment. And if the opposition ever wins the majority, everything’s over for good. It’s been many years, most of the people don’t even know how it all happened and why.”

“But you do,” Roger said. He didn’t comment on the story, there wasn’t anything to say anyway. Damage was done.

Gwilym nodded. “I studied history and political sciences. And besides being at your service I’m secretary to the Minister of Foreign affairs.”

“And still – you spend your evenings in a dingy pub in a Queenie part of the city,” Roger said and watched Gwilym suddenly squirm, turning crimson.

“Mr. Taylor, I... there’s a g- really good explanation for that, I was-“ 

“Relax,” Roger interrupted the babble. “I’m not here to berate you for your private life, hell, no. But I know a fish out of water when I see one.” 

Gwilym swallowed and seemed to be suddenly very interested in the carpet pattern.

“I’m not... I’m half-Queenie,” he said.

Roger frowned. “I know. From your mother’s side. But from what I understand about this place, for someone like you, it’s quite a risky business going to those parts of town.”

“You said it yourself,” Gwilym said quietly. “I’m a fish out of water. A Queenie among Earthers, and a traitor among Queenies. I thought I could beat it... There was a time when I did whatever it took to cover up the truth, but it never worked, not really, and I ended up... hurting someone. Someone dear to me. I was a right idiot.” 

“I see...,” Roger said slowly and took a sip from his glass.

Gwilym blushed. “I’ve never really talked about this.”

“It’s alright. If I were to tell you all the stupid things I’ve done to fit in on Earth, we’d be here at least another week.” Roger chuckled before going serious again. “These things... they’re not easy,” he said. “Not for anyone.”

For a quiet moment, he glanced out of the window. A Queenie among Earthers, a traitor among Queenies. Quite so. Is that how Double Q saw him? A traitor? Maybe... 

“I hope my mother is happy,” Gwil quietly interrupted his train of thought, looking pensive. “She followed my father to the Earth. I was fifteen when they left. They asked me to go with them, many times, but I wanted to stay with B- ... with my grandmother,” he looked suddenly unsettled and more alert, “stay with my grandmother, and do some good for the planet. Sometimes I wonder.” Seafoam eyes met Roger’s when Gwil hesitated. “But even if I went... it wouldn’t be alright anyway, would it?”

Roger opened his mouth to answer when suddenly they were interrupted by a man in black suit with a notepad in his hand.

“Mr. Calloway,” Gwilym frowned in worry. “Is something...?”

“No, not at all,” the man quickly. “But your grandmother needs to talk to you immediately. And Mr. Taylor, please, if you follow us to carriage one, we’re approaching the destination.”

The famous Deaky Transmitter resembled a model of the very first transmitters ever built, all the way before the Great Catastrophe. The building itself was square and made of concrete and glass, except for the transmitting tower itself which cast its shadow all the way to the nearest dunes, so tall it was. John Deacon’s life’s work – left without its maker.  
After the necessarily pompous welcome and introductions, visitors were let in. Brian could finally slip back to Roger’s side.

“Love, I’m so, so sorry for that,” he mumbled, but Roger just pressed his hand. 

“No need to be. Did you talk to Anita?”

They whispered as they walked through the main door while several men in baggy clothes were running around with cameras, taking pictures. The security, however, didn’t let anyone too close until the couple and all the important guests got safely into the cool grey entrance hall.

“It hasn’t been in active service for the last five years,” the head of employees explained, “so as you can see, it had been turned into a little museum. On the walls, you can find photos and holograms since 2649 up to present day, almost fifty years of history. Please, have a look for yourself.”

The guests spread around without some greater interest.

“I spoke with her for a bit,” Brian said casually while giving obligatory smiles left and right. “She didn’t really want to, but in the end, she admitted that status of Queenies and their rights... aren’t really what we hoped they would be. Your Joe spoke the truth.”

“How nicely said,” Roger murmured. “But that wasn’t really in question.”

“She also told me about that man over there,” Brian inconspicuously gestured towards a group next to the showcase with a spacesuit. “That’s-”

“-Charles Warrick,” Roger finished the sentence and smiled upon his husband’s surprise. “He’s the leader of the opposition and a proper wanker. Gwilym told me,” he explained.

Brian chuckled. “Of course. Should I be worried about your powers of persuasion when it comes to young boys?”

“Well...,” Roger winked and cracked his knuckles, “he does actually resemble a certain someone whom I might at times find quite attractive.”

“Oh, does he now?” Brian sighed fondly and caressed his husband’s hand. “You’re impossible.”

“He’s a lot like you, actually, it’s quite uncanny. Blushes like a virgin.”

“Roger!”

The couple slowly strolled over the museum until they managed to slip in one of the more distant abandoned corners. 

“It’s useful to know about opposition or Double Q,” Brian leaned closer so he could keep his voice even more down, “but they’re not really our problem. Not now.”

“Are you joking?” Roger looked him straight in the eyes.

“We need to find Freddie and Deaky,” Brian was unphased. “I won’t do anything until we make sure they’re alright.”

“It’s not like it has nothing in common with Double Q anyway,” Roger said and folded his arms on his chest. “Either they’re kidnapped or in hiding.”

“We can’t make assumptions, Rog.”

“You made them last night.”

“We need facts to build on,” Brian said adamantly. “They all repeat the same – that Freddie and Deaky retired, that they don’t want to see us...”

“And that’s a lie,” Roger emphasized. “It must be. Freddie would never-“

“It’s maybe a lie, Rog, maybe!”

“Oh, please!”

“Whatever the truth,” Brian said with an air of finality, closing the discussion, “there’s the one person more likely to know it than anyone else.”

They found Luke Mercury-Deacon soon enough, standing still in front of a large 3D photography. In the picture, there was a group of people with a half-built tower in the background. It looked several decades old at least.

“Enjoying the trip?” Brian smiled when he and Roger both took places by the younger man’s sides.

Luke’s smile seemed a bit forced. “I’d never have thought I’d come back here,” he said. But then, as if he realized he let out more emotions than intended, he quickly masked it with a laugh. “The last time I had to be... god, in my twenties! Just before I moved to Queen City.”

“I suppose John worked here a lot,” Roger said.

“Just the first couple of years. When dad sent the first message to Earth, we were nine. Since then he tried to distance himself. But during the constructions and programming, yes, a lot,” Luke smiled. “I remember visiting the site with papa, aunt Kash and all the others. We were quite a bunch. See – here.”

Luke pointed at the picture in front of them. The group in there consisted mostly of butch construction workers, but they could see some more slender figures there too.

“Fucking hell is that...,” Roger gasped, when he suddenly recognized the small but flamboyant figure grinning right into the camera from the front row. “He grew a bloody moustache!”

Luke chuckled. “I don’t remember him ever without it. Dad’s there too – over there, second row...“

Now Brian saw him too. Deaky, short-haired and bright-eyed, clearly more than content to be squeezed by Freddie from one side and a bunch of six children from the other. They all were a picture of one happy family, and when Brian turned to Luke to say something, he noticed the younger man’s eyes moistened.

“Luke?” he frowned. “Are you alright?”

“W-what?” Luke quickly averted his eyes and hid himself behind a chuckle. “Oh, yes, of course. It’s the lights and all those white walls – it almost hurts the eyes, doesn’t it, uncle?”

Roger sighed and asked directly: “Where are your parents now?”

“But I told you!” Luke almost jumped up in anxious agitation and his voice shook. It didn’t take a genius to realize how high-strung he was. “I told you, they’re retired, and they-“

“And they don’t want to see us, we know,” Brian finished the sentence and continued kindly, “but we’d have to be really stupid or be really bad friends not to understand there’s something more going on.”

“People change.”

“We’d never ever do anything to hurt them,” Roger added quietly. “But we need to know. Every problem has a solution, but we can’t do anything until you tell us.”

“Not every problem,” Luke mumbled.

Brian shrugged. “Maybe we should just go and ask your siblings.”

“Leave Laura out of this.”

“And your other siblings?” 

In a minute of tense silence that followed, Brian watched Luke’s Adam’s apple go up and down as the man swallowed.

Roger raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? And God help me, if you say the rest of your family simply retired with your parents-”

“You know what?” Luke suddenly snapped. “Fuck you! Both of you! You don’t have the right to just waltz in here, question me, demand things and pretend you know everything best!”

“That’s the thing, Luke,” Brian said urgently. “We don’t know! If you just tell us and we understand there’s a reasonable explanation for us not going to see them, if it’s really their wish or a necessity, we won’t press any further. I promise.”

Luke hesitated. “If I tell you... you promise you leave it alone? There’s nothing you can do.”

“If that’s the case,” Brian said, checking with Roger, who was also on board, “then we promise.”

It took a moment for Luke to breathe in and out, but the older couple was patient.

“Not here,” Luke whispered nervously, glancing around. “We can go out for a dinner tonight. Somewhere with lots of people who don’t care and won’t eavesdrop. Minister Dobson would kill me if she got to know...”

“Tonight, then,” Brian agreed and smiled warmly at the younger man. “We’re on your side, Luke, wherever that might be. And on your parents’ side. We want to help.”

“You can’t help, uncle Bri,” Luke whispered, “but in any case... thank you.”


	9. Where Are You Now?

“If I’d ever doubt it was Fred who provided a half of Luke’s upbringing...,” Roger glanced at Brian as they stepped out of a car in front of the restaurant, “well... I don’t anymore.”

Brian couldn’t supress a soft smile. “It seems to be so.”

The restaurant Luke had chosen for their meeting, Le Monde, was situated in the most prominent part of Queen City. Only few streets from houses of government, May’s Park and Freedom Square with all the tiny shops selling obscenely expensive items of well-known brands. Everything in that street, including wide glass door of Le Monde with a porter in turquoise uniform, screamed of top ten thousand. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure, Roger thought, that I’m the only Queenie around. Very, very far around. What possessed Luke to ask to meet here? Unless everybody on Queen, idolising at least Brian, somehow considered places like Le Monde their standard.

Roger’s thought process was cut short by Brian, who reached for his bowtie and straightened it. They were both wearing their best evening clothes, courtesy of Gwilym who had warned them about the sheer pomposity of the restaurant earlier that day. God bless him, he certainly wasn’t wrong. 

The porter reacted the moment they made first steps towards the door and held them open.

“Dr. May,” he smiled warmly, “please, welcome to Le Monde. We’ve been told you would grace us with your presence, it’s the highest honour for our humble establishment. And eh...,” his eyes hesitantly slipped over Roger, but he decided to drop whatever he was about to say. Next to the door, there was a small golden sign “Earth Only”.

Well, tough luck, Roger frowned as they entered and a petite red-haired woman, also in turquoise uniform, immediately approached them.

“I’m afraid Mr. Mercury-Deacon hasn’t arrived just yet,” she apologised as she led them without any delay to their table, “but I hope you allow us to take care of you until then, as well as during your whole stay. Le Monde is famous for satisfying even the most particular guests.”

“Without a doubt,” Brian answered with a polite smile.

Roger sighed, glancing around. His firm decision to hate that place with all his guts was in direct conflict with his weak spot for tasteful indulgence. 

Le Monde was a grand space, to say the least, furnished all in refined tunes of blue, crystal and gold. Mahogany tables and comfortable chairs took up most of the space the dim, romantic place offered, left without a tablecloth and daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine with their fingerprints. Delicate candelabras commanded attention from the centre of each table, holding smooth white candles whose wax never dripped. 

The air smelled of some inoffensive flowers, expensive liquor and food in the most delightful and subtle way.

“Your table, gentlemen,” the waitress smiled and took Roger’s attention away from the golden waves. “Welcome to Le Monde, my colleague will be here shortly.” 

Brian gallantly held a chair for Roger, who sat down with a small chuckle.

“Still wooing me, after all these years?”

“Honestly,” Brian took a seat as well and pulled himself closer to the table, “after all these years, who else am I supposed to woo?”

“So, you’re just lazy?” Roger smirked. “How romantic.”

Brian just shook his head in amusement. “This place is nice,” he remarked after a moment. 

Roger nodded and couldn’t hold himself from glancing at the ceiling, which was simply a crown jewel of the whole interior. At first, he was convinced they somehow made it out of a living gold. The golden mass shined and sparkled while moving like a sea surface would. Only after a while he understood there were millions of fragile golden chains hanging, one right next to the other, waving softly in a wind from hidden fans, creating the perfect illusion. And the light softly glowing through it made for an additional glow which truly sold the deal and finalised the magic.

“Way too nice,” Roger mumbled.

“And actually, quite clever,” Brian quite ignored the comment, still thoughtful, “don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry?”

“From Luke, to invite us here, when you think about it,” Brian said, and smiled. “He really reminds me of Deaky quite a lot. I mean... this is the kind of place you take people in order to simply take them there. Many would have questions if he just took us somewhere more mediocre. And... all the tables are far from each other, and the music...”

Roger understood what Brian meant and agreed with the general idea. They weren’t out for fun. They needed to find Freddie. And Deaky. Roger’s stomach clenched with a bad premonition. Being on a run from a terroristic organisation wouldn’t be easy for anyone and furthermore, as well as he and Brian got old, Freddie and Deaky surely hadn’t remained in their twenties either. But at least their family seemed to look after them. They had six...

That didn’t help the unsettled nausea at all, and Roger quickly took a sip of the complimentary lemon water.

“Rog?” Brian noticed the shift and uncomfortable silence. He looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Quite, I just...,” Roger tried to somehow put his chaotic thoughts together, “thinking... do you ever regret we didn’t... never really...”

“Never... what?” Brian frowned and leaned in closer. “Roger?”

Before could Roger answer properly, their host appeared by their table, all dressed up in a black tuxedo.

“I’m sorry,” Luke smiled nervously, and little crow feet appeared in the corners of his eyes, “Laura wanted to talk before... anyway, I hope you’re not waiting for long.”

“Just few minutes,” Brian assured him. “Please, sit.”

“The traffic is a nightmare,” Luke said conversationally and took the remaining seat. “Did you find it without trouble?”

Roger wanted to say something caustic about how, firstly, they apparently found it, and secondly, they arrived before him, but held his tongue. Even a less skilful reader of people would realize the younger man was unsettled. Disturbed even.

“Gwilym was of a great help,” Brian kept the tone light and polite, still smiling. 

“Ah,” Luke nodded, “yes, I forgot he’s taking care of you.”

“Do you know him? I mean, more than an acquaintance?” Brian asked. 

Before Luke could answer, the waitress returned with a wine list, and gave them all a bright smile.

“If I may be so bold,” she said, “I’d recommend the gentlemen from Earth our special Leroy Grand Cru - a queen of the Charsemic vineyard and the best our wine cellar can offer. Goes excellently with starters.”

Luke hesitated.

“Do you wish to have a taste first, to make a decision?” she asked then, probably being used to guests not being wine experts.

“Probably... yes, thank you,” Luke nodded, and the waitress quickly left. “And... ah, yes, Gwilym,” he turned back to Brian. “I knew him better when he was a child. Dad and papa were good friends of Prime Minister Dobson – even though she wasn’t a Prime Minister then, of course, so Cen, her daughter, was almost like a cousin to us. Miss Moppy, we called her,” he chuckled. “All those crazy curls, you know, I could swear her hair was everywhere. I think we just wanted to annoy her because she was taller than us. Then she got married and moved to Mincager while I started my work here in Queen City, so we saw each other only occasionally. But aunt Anita – I mean, Prime Minister Dobson, always let us see Gwil when they visited. But well.... as I said, that was a long time ago. Cen moved to Earth and with Gwilym we don’t have many reasons to, I mean... we all moved on. Everybody got more distant.”

During the talk he looked relaxed and almost happy sharing all the memories, but once he ended, he because suddenly cautious and aware of Brian’s and Roger’s stares. He knew why the elderly couple were there. They knew as well. And they wouldn’t leave without what they came for.

“This place,” Luke blurted out quietly, “it’s a very nice place.”

“Yes, very nice place,” Brian agreed. “Luke, your parents...”

“Did I tell you they actually went here, about a year after it was opened?” Luke said hurriedly and sipped on his water. “For their anniversary. Papa loved it, at least that’s what Dad said. That was, I think... around... a year before Prime Minister Beach died, so... twenty years ago.”

“Yes, Miami,” Brian hunched a bit in the memory of their friend and most trusted ally. “It was a hard blow when we heard he died. Heart failure, wasn’t it?”

Luke nodded and took a concerningly big gulp of water. “They found him in his office. In the morning. He must’ve stayed overnight and... well... My fathers couldn’t believe it, no one could. Though Dad rarely ever looked surprised. He just straight up forbade papa to go to Queen City or anywhere near it and tried to convince me and Laura to come home as well.” 

Brian frowned. The Deaky he once knew could be described as many things, but paranoid wouldn’t make the cut.

“Because of Miami having a heart failure John didn’t want Freddie to leave the house?” he asked suspiciously.

The waitress interrupted them again, holding an old, expensive-looking bottle and a single glass.

“Which one of you gentlemen would like to have a taste?” she smiled.

Luke glanced over Brian and Roger, but none of the guests made a move, so he just nodded. “Please.”

The waitress poured the taste glass half full looking very professionally and handed it to Luke. He slowly drank it, running the drink over his tongue right and left.

“I think... yes, it’s good,” he decided, so the waitress took the taste glass back and poured them all into much more elegant glasses already prepared on the table. Another waiter stood behind her, holding plates with complimentary hors d'oeuvre. 

“Bon appétit, messieurs,” they nodded and left them alone. 

The appetizer seemed to be a tiny scoop of caviar heavily decorated with pieces of vegetables, some real blossoms and two delicate bread sticks. 

Brian sighed, and watched the staff leave. Then he turned back to Luke immediately. “You wanted to tell us-“

“I hope you like caviar,” Luke said quickly and poked his finger behind a crease of his collar, discreetly trying to loosen it. “I wasn’t sure you-”

“Luke,” Brian said sternly, “it’s not food we’re here for.”

The younger man slowly nodded under the direct gaze. “I know,” Luke whispered. Now he looked a bit flushed. “And I’m so sorry, truly, you don’t deserve this, any of this. My parents always talked about you with such love and respect, no one would ever doubt you’ve been real friends to them. The best friends, even.”

“I dare say,” Roger nodded, watching Luke softly. “Luke... Are you alright?” 

“A bit dizzy. Nervous,” Luke admitted sheepishly and had to chuckle at himself. “When I was little, I used to ask dad about space, and he always said he wasn’t really cut for it and was happy he’d never have to go there again. So instead, I just looked up to the sky and asked for stories about uncle Bri and uncle Rog who went there somewhere, to an adventure, never to come back. It sounded way more romantic than dad tinkering with old electronics or papa playing piano or doodling in his sketchbook. Back then... they were way too boring and domestic for me. I’d give anything to have it back. Just once, for a day, I wish...”

Brian and Roger exchanged glances.

“We’re here now,” Roger said quietly.

“Now it really sounds like... like I’m fifteen and not fifty-one,” Luke grimaced. “So... a toast?” he raised his glass in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“To what exactly?” Roger asked and reached for his glass as well. “To Queen? To your fathers?”

“To you and uncle Bri,” Luke decided and smiled a bit, “finally coming home. You’ve been missed.”

“So... to home?” Brian suggested.

“To home,” Luke agreed, and all three men raised their glasses and clinked them.

“To home.”

At that moment, Luke looked incredibly like John, Brian thought. Or was it just because he hadn’t seen Deaky for so goddamn long? They’ve been apart for most of their lives and yet... yet... Brian would name John without even thinking if he’d been ever asked who he considered the closest friend. Closest friend... being as far away as humanly possible. The irony of a retired astronaut.  
Was it really... god, around sixty years ago when they met? 

_“Where?”_  
_“At the bar. Brown hair.”_  
_“That girl? Who is it?”_  
_“That’s John Deacon, you idiot. Hero of the Fairy King. You've heard about him, right?”_

 _“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked._  
_John raised an eyebrow. “Can I not drink it if you do?”_  
_Brian chuckled. “Sure. I’m Brian May,” he introduced himself, “first officer of the Silver Salmon.”_  
_John looked thoughtful for a short while before he asked: “Kuiper belt?”_  
_Brian nodded. “Exactly. So... you’re John Deacon.”_

“We’ll meet at the MBB,” Brian whispered, lost in the sudden memory, before he realized he froze completely with his wine glass half-way to his lips.

Roger put away his own untouched glass and reached for his husband’s hand. Luke was already half through his wine, but now even he noticed something off. 

“Uncle Bri?” he frowned. “Would you rather a... glass of water or anything? I can a- oh!” he gasped and almost doubled over, clutching his stomach.

“Luke?” Roger stood up quickly. “Are you-“

Another violent spasm shook through the younger man and all the dishes jumped up when he hit the table. His face was red and glistening with tears.

“Help-“ he squeezed out, wide-eyed in shock and pain, shivering and digging his fingers deep in his stomach. Before Brian or Roger could even move, Luke spasmed again and collapsed over his chair and on the floor.

Guests from other tables started to notice them and get up.

Luke made a painful gagging sound, like he was swallowing his own bile, but in vain. Yellow vomit spewed out of his coughing, choking mouth. His stomach kept on contracting violently and forcing everything up and out. His face was now white, dripping bile, sweat, and tears. Uncomprehending greyish-green eyes begged anyone for help.

Roger cursed his knees and slowly got down next to the choking man. Brian seemed just frozen in shock. Right before their eyes, Luke lurched forward and sunk flat in an unnatural angle, face down to the soiled floor. 

And then quiet.

A dreadful, silent second... before all hell broke loose. People screamed, and of course they all ran to have a look, high heels clicking on the floor, agitated voices calling for the staff and any doctors present. Some took out their phones and started taking pictures or videos of the havoc. 

Somebody knocked over the table.

Security guards Brian and Roger had been assigned and which they’d left waiting near the entrance came rushing close and pulled their charges back from the chaos.

Brian finally found his voice. “No, no, let me, we have to-“

“We have to go, sir! It’s not safe here for you!”

“But-“

“We have to go!”

They nearly literally dragged Brian and Roger outside and pushed them in the car which pulled out immediately with a screech of wheels. They could see an ambulance in the rear-view mirror.

“What... why did...,” Roger whispered and gave Brian a shaken glance. None of them understood just yet what happened. “Could it be just a seizure?”

Brian was no medical professional, he knew that, but here he was sure when he shook his head. There was a poison in the wine. 

The wine they were all supposed to drink. 

He pressed Roger’s hand.


	10. Hard to Believe

They were back in the hotel room. The red light of Almira shined through the window glass, which only added to the depressive and heavy atmosphere. 

Brian felt a bit ill, odd bitterness spreading across his tongue, and watched detective Williams, who’d been until then talking with Roger, shove his chair closer to him now.

“Doctor May, I’d like to ask you few more additional questions. I understand you’ve been with your husband that whole time, so we’ll make this short." 

Brian nodded slowly. Yes, please, make this short, he begged. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep it together before... Before what? It’s not like he could just explode or disappear under the ground.

The air was getting warmer and warmer with each minute, Brian felt himself choking on it. They were still in their evening clothes, both him and Roger. Then there were two policemen in full uniforms at the door, and detective Williams. Too many people. He needed them to get out, all of them. But they wouldn’t go, he had to keep it together...

Every second felt like an hour. He could hear everybody’s breath, the soft creaking of the hotel bed he’d been sitting on, even faint sounds of water running several rooms away from theirs.

Roger handled it with much more grace, Brian thought. Quiet and serious, but he answered all detective’s questions without problem. Brian wasn’t sure he could to do the same...

“Would you give us your version of the events,” Detective Williams leaned forward with his notebook. 

Brian swallowed and stayed quiet. This evening wasn’t real. It couldn’t be...

“Bri?” Roger interrupted the silence after it dragged on for a bit too long. His blue eyes were worried and attentive. He was ready to get up from his armchair and join Brian on the bed, but Brian softly dismissed the gesture. They were there together, they saw it together, Roger shouldn’t have to provide him with comfort up to all else! 

“It was just like Roger described,” Brian said blandly to the detective, watching his own hands in his lap. “During our visit of Deaky Transmitter, Luke told us about the restaurant and invited us to join him for dinner. He said no one should visit Queen City without dining at La Monde. We came shortly before eight, they led us to our table-”

“The table number twelve, in the far-left corner?”

“Yes, that is correct. We got water with lemon-“

“Did you drink it?”

Brian nodded. “We both did. It was fine. Then Luke arrived, around five minutes after eight. We talked for a bit, then the waitress offered us wine-“

“Who picked it?”

“She did, actually,” Brian said. The moments were still alive in his mind, as if he lived through them again. He closed his eyes, trying to hide the shiver in his voice. “She brought the wine, Luke tasted it and said it was good, so she poured it in the glasses prepared on the table. Then they gave us caviar and left, we talked some more and decided to make a toast, so... we did but... I got distracted and didn’t drink... and Roger didn’t drink... and Luke did – and right after he did, he... he just...”

“Yes, thank you,” the detective nodded.

“is it really certain the poison was meant for us?” Roger asked quietly. “Did you find it in the wine?”

“The laboratory tests were... impossible to carry out,” detective Williams admitted, turning around to answer properly. “In the commotion after the incident, the table was knocked over. All the remaining samples of wine are useless. But from the events described it seems quite clear the attack was meant to kill you two, if you forgive me to say it bluntly.”

“It’s much better being blunt than trying to make it something it’s not,” Roger said, glancing towards Brian and then back. 

The detective cleared his throat. “Indeed,” he nodded. “Your survival was a lucky coincidence. The killers are ruthless and unconcerned with such things as one corpse too many. I’m afraid the death of Mr. Mercury-Deacon was a mere by-product of them getting to you.”

“Are you talking about Double Q?” Brian asked tiredly. “No need to sugar-coat it. They tried to kill us already. Yesterday.”

Was it only yesterday they arrived? It felt like ages...

Detective Williams nodded. “There’s no doubt this was their work, I’m afraid. They left a signature.”

“A signature?”

“I think I can show you...,” the detective took out his phone and Roger got up curiously and along with Brian leaned in to see the screen. There was the entrance to La Monde, already secured by police and paramedics. On the white wall next to it, there was a large sprayed-on inscription QQ.

“Nobody saw them do it,” Williams said quietly. “My men are interrogating witnesses as we speak.”

“What about security cameras?” Roger asked.

The detective sighed. “Five years ago, the city council had them removed from... ehm... from the more prominent parts of the city. To provide privacy to the citizens.”

“You mean the Earth parts of the city,” Roger guessed.

Williams didn’t argue and decided to jump over the topic. “Double Q learned about your plans for the evening,” he said, “which means you must’ve met their spies. Who else besides you two and Luke Mercury-Deacon knew about that meeting at La Monde?”

Brian thought about it. “I suppose... not many people. The staff of the restaurant, our bodyguards... and Gwilym, of course. Gwilym Lee.”

“I see...” The look on detective Williams’ face was unmistakeable.

“I don’t think Gwilym had anything to do with this,” Brian emphasized, feeling the awkward moment. “He’s a good kid.”

The detective nodded politely, unconvinced. “In any case we-“

The door suddenly banged open so loud all three men jumped up in their seats, and another police officer burst in like a flood. 

Williams stood up, fast and stern. “Sergeant Newton!” he snapped. “What’s the-“

“Fire, sir!” the officer gasped. “There’s fire in the May’s Park!”

Brian and Roger exchanged alarmed glances while the detective asked for details.

“It started about five minutes ago,” Newton continued, his fingers twitching nervously, “they said nobody saw them coming, but they made a huge pyre out of books and lit it up, you can see the smoke from here.”

“Who are “they”, Newton?”

“Double Q. They left their signature on the gate. Our forces are after them, but they spread out and wreak havoc all over the centre, running around in black hoodies and bandanas. There are some smaller fires, broken cars and shop windows, smoke grenades-“

“Any casualties?”

“Fist fights, but no deaths so far, unless captain Hawkins orders to shoot,” Newton cleared his throat and finally slowed down a bit. “Besides May’s Park there are at least six more signatures written around the centre. The failed murder attempt must’ve provoked them. They’re furious.”

“Without a doubt...,” Williams stood silent for a bit and then turned back to Brian and Roger. “I’m sorry for all this, gentlemen. Under current circumstances I strongly advise you to not leave this building, if possible, your room, for the foreseeable future. We’ll reinforce your bodyguards with our men, there will be officers in front of your door and around the hotel at all times.”

Brian nodded. “Of course.”

Roger agreed as well. “And eh... do you know why they are burning books?” he asked, frowning. “In a park?”

Officer Newton seemed to be taken aback by the question, but then answered quietly. “It’s your book,” he nodded towards Brian. “The memoirs of your time on Queen and the Great Revolution. I’m sorry. Judging by the size of that fire, they must’ve been collecting them for weeks.”

After this, all the policemen finally excused themselves and left the old couple alone.

Brian didn’t move, just sitting on the bed. His shoulders perhaps hunched more than they did few minutes ago. Roger slowly got up and sat to him side by side.

“Oh, Bri...,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry...”

Brian gave him an icy stare. “Why? About my book burned by those... those...”

“Bri, that’s not what I-”

“You heard how they talked about it,” Brian’s voice cracked. “Murder attempt. As if. They did murder him, they killed him just because he was with us, just by the way. God, I wish they succeeded.”

Roger reached for his face and forced Brian to look at him. “Don’t talk like that,” he whispered. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

Brian wanted to breathe, he wanted to calm down... but also, he didn’t want to, not really, out of fear. Fear that if the shock and agitation went away, he’d find that oh-so-familiar darkness lurking behind it. Dead inside, only pretending to live fake life. His tongue felt dry and his throat hurt as if someone thrust a handful of itching powder inside. His eyes were scruffy. 

“Deaky’s son died because of us,” he said.

Roger exhaled sharply. “This isn’t our fault!”

Brian looked up and their eyes met. “Then... why do I feel like it is?” he whispered. “It is...”

The clean lines of Anita’s office furniture reflected the red light of Almira strong and sharp, so she rather drew the curtains and opted for the softer yellow glow of her lamps.  
Despite the late hour, she was still impeccably dressed and fully awake. Just now she glared with polite coldness at Charles Warrick, who seemed very comfortable despite the unwelcoming approach.

“I’ve heard our guests got themselves in quite a pickle,” he said, watching Anita’s face for any sign his glee hit the target. A professional poker player. “A murder attempt in public... innocent victim... riots in the streets...”

“If you have something substantial to discuss, Warrick, then get to the point,” Anita asked him while sorting out the papers on her desk. “I’m quite busy.”

“You can’t blame me for being concerned,” Warrick shrugged. “Citizens of Queen being randomly poisoned, statues exploding... maybe it’s time to admit the matters of safety need to be re-evaluated. Almost as if everything wasn’t under control.”

Anita’s stare grew even sharper. “Thank you for the reminder, Charles, and be assured we’re not taking this lightly. An investigation started and once we find the offenders-“

“That’s a great relief to hear,” Warrick interrupted her, “however... there are people asking if your investigation will have an impact necessary for this situation – or if it, like all the times before, just turns out useless and leads to nothing.”

“I do not appreciate this tone, Mr. Warrick.”

“I talked with general Singer earlier this day,” Warrick shrugged, looking around the office, “he’s not happy with the situation either.”

Anita got up and her fingers clenched around the edge of her desk. “General Singer is merely a leader of Queen’s armed forces,” she said, frowning. “He can be or not be happy with the situation as he likes, but nonetheless, he answers to the government. The army will not act unless we order them to.”

“General Singer is also responsible for all the profit of rhenium mines, on Earth’s behalf,” Warrick raised his eyebrow, still impeccably calm. “And they might prefer the government led by someone who’d assure people not getting murdered in the streets.”

“For your own sake, Charles, you shouldn’t repeat these opinions out loud in public,” Anita said. “Some might even call it corruption. Or treason. Earth has no right to get involved in our internal politics.”

Warrick gave her a dry stare, his rat-like face content. “Queen for Queenies, then?” he smiled sweetly. “Maybe no wonder those terrorists haven’t been brought to justice just yet.”

Anita’s face paled, but her eyes could set the office on fire.

“Get the fuck out,” she hissed. “I know what you want, Warrick, both you and Singer, and I assure you, I’ll rather die than I let that happen.” 

“You’re being unnecessarily dramatic,” Warrick smiled and got up. “I wish you all the good luck in handling this sudden unfortunate situation, Anita, and... well, take care. After all, everybody knows exactly where your sympathies lie.”

“I simply don’t make a difference between people born in different places,” Anita said and folded her hands on her chest. “Those guilty of crimes should be punished, those innocent protected. Earthers and Queenies alike.”

“Then I congratulate you on your noble ideals,” Warrick smiled and with a small nod headed to the door, “I wonder if they’d apply on your grandson as well, he’s a quite a little scallywag... as I hear. Bad places, bad company... I can’t even imagine the trouble it’d cause your whole party- But that’s none of my business, naturally. After all,” his smile got even wider, “boys will be boys.”

“Get out of here, you snake.”

“There’s no need to be rude,” Warrick opened the door and gave his opponent one last smile. “Good night, Anita. Always a pleasure.”

Then the door clicked shut behind him. Anita sank back in her chair.

When Gwilym entered Anita’s office about ten minutes later, he found his grandmother at the table, head resting in her hands. Immediately he realized how tired and worn she looked, but to be honest, he wasn’t much better off. 

“Did you hear about those riots?” he asked hastily without an introduction and quickly closed the door behind him. “I brought you coffee.”

“Thank you, Gwilly,” Anita sighed and extended her hand for the warm cup. “And yes... I’ve heard. There’s a full report in my inbox if you’d like to read it.”

“Was Warrick here?” Gwilym sat down and sipped from his own cup. “What did he want?”

Anita scoffed. “The usual. I don’t have to tell you how much he’s enjoying the situation. Fuck Double Q.”

“Grandma!”

“What?” she sighed. “It’s a disaster, Gwilly, you know that. For us, for the party, for all the Queenies. Warrick will do everything in his power to make this a scandal of the century. Brian May is a hero for all the Earthers, if people decide to take the matter of protecting him in their own hands, we can have a full-blown civil war. Especially if people start calling for a leader who’d unleash Singer and his army to put Double Q in their place.”

Gwilym swallowed, but the ball in his throat remained. “Then... what do we do?”

“Most importantly, we have to prevent panic,” Anita said decidedly, and her sharp eyes pierced the young man. “We’ll make sure Luke is buried quickly and quietly, without an unnecessary fuss. No public allowed, no mention in the press. Then we’ll issue our own statements about the incident and present it as a tragic accident, unrelated to the statue or unrest in the streets.”

“That’s not true!” Gwilym protested and his face heated up. “You can’t lie to people like that, grandma! And Luke- that’s not fair, you can’t...”

Anita frowned and put her mug on the table. “I can because I have to,” she said. “It’s unfortunate, but we have no choice. It’s our duty to protect our people, with lies and secrets if necessary. We’ve done it before.”

“Sure, why not,” Gwilym leaned back, poorly hiding his caustic expression.

“I don’t like your tone.”

“I don’t like your plan,” he fired back. “If it’s necessary to spread lies and wipe whole families out of history just to keep things stable, then perhaps they’re stable in a wrong way.”

“What would you have me do, Gwilym? Let Singer and his hounds loose in the streets of Queenie quarter?”

“We need to find Double Q,” Gwilym said firmly. “That’s the only way. Find them, uncover them, and put an end to this once and for all.”

“Just because you don’t hear about it every day doesn’t mean we’re not trying,” Anita stood up and closed her laptop shut. “You focus on your job. May and Taylor... how are they coping? Have you talked to them?”

“I did,” Gwilym got up as well, watching his grandmother sort out documents into her briefcase, “just before I came here. Some detective arrived for interrogations, I told him what I could, not that I knew much. They’re shaken, of course,” he shrugged, “it must’ve been a shock. Especially if Luke managed to tell them about his parents.”

Anita’s briefcase fell back on the table and knocked down a stash of papers.

“Told what?” she asked, and her eyes widened. “Why do you think they talked about-“

Gwilym rolled his eyes. “Oh, please,” he said a bit bitterly, “after a visit to Deaky Transmitter, dinner with Luke Mercury-Deacon, what the hell do you think they were talking about?”

“I had this conversation with Luke a long time ago,” Anita frowned. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell them. He knows what’s in stake. He knew.”

“Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?”

“No, I don’t,” Anita said sternly. “Trust me to do my job, Gwilym, and you focus on yours. You’ll go to May and Taylor first thing tomorrow, you promise them anything they might want, give them anything they ask for, apologise on behalf of anybody you can think of, and try to downplay the situation.”

“Downplay-“

“Yes. Isolated accident, no need to be worried, and if you manage to blur about the riots as well-“

“They’re all over tv, grandma, how am I supposed to-“

“Just do it, Gwilym.” Anita turned off the little lamp on her desk, gestured Gwilym out of the door, and then added a bit kindlier: “I know you don’t like this.”

“The opposition uses lies and scams to manipulate others,” Gwilym frowned. “Are we really no better? We need to destroy Double Q, clearly and once and for all.”

“What you need to do, Gwilym, is stay out of trouble,” Anita stood on her tiptoes, touched his cheek and kissed her grandson goodnight. “Warrick never sleeps. There can be nothing he could use against us. But you understand at least that, don’t you?”

Gwilym hesitated. “I... yes, of course.”

“Good. Now hurry to bed, try to get some sleep. Be on the phone.”

“I always am,” he nodded. “Good night, grandma.”

The streets of the centre had already calmed down when Gwilym walked home. Only in several streets he could see the clear signs of past unrest – broken windows, demolished cars, faint smell of smoke and tear gas.

Gwilym sighed, and pulled his jacket closer, as if searching for a comforting hug the fabric would perhaps give.

Double Q... he tried really hard not to judge them. Lately he found himself less and less entitled to condemn others, but law and order was something everybody needed, wasn’t it? Everybody on Queen needed stable society, but everybody also needed to eat, needed shelter, needed safety for their family and loved ones. We're all like that, right, Earthers and Queenies alike? Double Q included. But the hatred towards Brian and Roger, the murder of Luke, and all the other things... that was something else. Something inexcusable, done in pure rage. They took property hard won and trashed it just because they could. They took a life just because it stood in their way.

No, he couldn’t excuse that. Call him naive... but he couldn’t understand. Tears stung in his eyes, and Gwilym wiped them away. This was wrong... just so, so wrong... And he couldn’t do anything against it, one pitiful cog in a machine, caught in deadly pliers of Double Q’s raging on one side and the Opposition’s sleazy ambitions on the other.

He felt so alone. Was he stupid to think this could be solved? That everybody could live in peace, freely and without fear? 

Somewhere near, he could smell the putrid stench of burning plastic. Bins, he thought, frowning. Shards of glass glistened on the pavement in a weak red light. Gwilym looked up. On the white wall next to a ransacked bank branch, there was a large inscription “QQ”.

Black on white, clear and simple message.

“Gwil?”

Sudden voice from the small alley startled him. 

“Who’s there?” he called.

First, he saw nothing, but then a figure in black hoodie and bandana stepped out from the shadows. And then they tore down the mask, revealing large blue eyes and shining blonde hair. He looked a bit uncertain and even shy, looking up to Gwil’s face.

Gwilym’s breath hitched. “B-Ben...”

It was him.

“Ben – w-what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Ben said quietly, “you live in the area, don’t you?”

“I do,” Gwil was unsure what else to say. His head was buzzing. He dreamed about such moment for years, Ben coming to him without any more hate, but... “I live in that tall house over there. Seventh floor.”

Ben nodded and made a small step closer, his face pleading. “I know how this all looks like,” he said, “but we need to talk. Can we? Somewhere without anyone to see or hear.”

Gwilym frowned. “What about?”

“We can’t stay out here. But... used to be friends once, didn’t we? Please?”

It took only few seconds of thinking and one more look of the blue eyes for Gwilym to melt. In the black hoodie few sizes bigger than Ben would need his light skin and golden hair stood out like a halo. 

My angel... something warm fluttered in Gwil’s chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Like all the fear and terror of the last hours, it didn’t even matter anymore. Only those large eyes and their soft sparkle looking to the very core of his soul.

“Gwilym?” Ben whispered, and Gwil realized he spaced out for... well, long enough for it to be awkward.

“Come with me,” he said quickly and reached for Ben’s hand. 

To his surprise, the blond took it.


	11. Beautiful Dreams We Had

In complete silence, they arrived to Gwil’s flat. They didn’t talk during the short walk, not when passing the receptionist in the hallway, and exchanged nothing but awkward glances while standing in the elevator side by side.

Sharp light in the confined cabin made Gwilym realize just how much had Ben changed. He used to be a dainty thing with child-like face and eyes to challenge the heaven itself. Now... Gwil quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the thick elevator door... Ben’s features got sharper over the years, obviously, it was now a face of a man, not a boy. Sunken cheeks and worn-out expression bore a mark of hard life. Gwilym swallowed in unease. 

“I... I hope you’re well,” he mumbled, and felt a treacherous blush already rising up his face. 

Ben looked up softly. “What?”

Their voices echoed in the small cabin.

“Since the last time,” Gwil clarified, “at Cool Cat, you’ve been... eh... unwell.”

Something in Ben’s expression hardened when he looked away. His fingers twitched. “I’m well,” he said shortly. “Shit happens.”

“I can give you some painkillers or-“

“No.”

“Oh...,” Gwil hesitated a bit awkwardly, “yes, eh... just let me know if you change your mind. There’s no problem, I have enough.”

It looked as if Ben bit his tongue trying to stop himself from an answer. Luckily, the moment ended with a click of the opening door and both men stepped out on a long corridor.

“It’s right at the end, number seventeen,” Gwilym said when leading Ben by a long line of identical-looking door. “Not very big, I’m afraid but... it’s all I need.”

“You live alone?” Ben asked quietly. “No... no anyone?”

“No, I...,” Gwilym hoped he sounded less awkward than he felt, “I live alone. No anyone. I haven’t really been with anyone since... Since.”

“Since...,” Ben repeated, and his hands shook when he clenched them in firm fists. All the muscles on his neck stood out as he swallowed, viscerally uncomfortable. That moment lasted for a second or two, then he breathed out and nodded with a smile. “Pity. You could make someone very happy; I imagine.”

“Ben, please, you can’t think-“

“Think what?”

Gwilym hesitated when met with Ben’s ice-cold stare. He chose rather not to answer, and turned his attention towards his pockets, fumbling for a key. “Nothing. It’s kind of you to say that.”

Ben only shifted his weight from foot to foot and watched Gwilym finally open the door to his dark apartment.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Gwil said, switching the lights up. Soft glow flooded his apologetic face. “Please, come in, you can put the hoodie on the coat rack over there.”

“No.” Ben frowned and pulled the thick fabric closer. And then, as if an explanation, he added quietly: “I’m cold.”

“I’ll turn on the heating,” Gwilym promised and hurried to the thermostat. “And some tea?” 

Ben didn’t answer. His eyes flickered over the apartment. Gwil called it small, but it looked at least four times bigger than the damp hole he and Joe shared. This place had freshly painted white walls and a wooden floor. Furniture was also white, lacquered and modern, but several colourful tones and warm yellow light prevented it from looking cold. The kitchenette was all bright and shiny, the metal parts all squeaky clean. Dining table under the window was made of wood and covered by real linen tablecloth. And in the living room area there was a comfortably looking grey sofa decorated by two bright red pillows. One whole wall was covered by books and door next to it led probably to the bedroom.   
In the air, he could smell a soft scent of new furniture, books, Gwil’s aftershave, and something minty coming out of the air freshener on the windowsill.

Ben felt something bitter in his mouth. Maybe it got into his eyes as well, because they started itching with salty tears he so stubbornly swallowed. This wasn’t fair. This was not fucking fair.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?” Ben broke out of his melancholy and looked up, surprised to see Gwilym just standing there, watching him and waiting for an answer. “Sorry- what did you-“

“I asked if you were hungry,” Gwilym repeated patiently and Ben looked down. He couldn’t stand those sea-foam eyes, he... he just couldn’t look there any longer. “I’ve got lasagne in the fridge and some wine, cheese, breadsticks... Can I... would you... perhaps... have dinner with me?”

“No!” Ben said, the refusal sharp as a gunshot. Blue eyes frowned when he made a step back.

“Not like that!” Gwilym defended himself immediately, raising his hands. “I just... just... look, I know the way you live and... I’m so sorry... You must believe me I’d do anything to help. Even if just by getting you a meal.”

Ben’s fists tightened. “Working for a part-time charity, good boy?”

“Ben, I-“

“I don’t want your stuff!” Ben exclaimed, and his face reddened in fury. He felt pathetic. Like a small child having a tantrum. “Don’t- Don’t- Stop being like this, don’t give me-, I don’t want anything of yours, do you understand? Understand?”

“I’m trying to,” Gwilym said softly. “But you came to me, not the other way around. And whatever the reason...” He looked up and slowly breathed out. “I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said. “It’s just food. It means nothing more. I can pack it in a box for you to take with, if you want. We don’t have to eat together.”

Ben was torn. 

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, biting his lip. “Why are you like this?”

Gwilym walked around the sofa and back to his guest, until they both stood side-by-side. Ben shivered. There was something in Gwil’s face he didn’t want to understand. Was it possible to miss someone you hated with all your guts? And was it possible to want to cry because of it?

“I care, Ben,” Gwilym said simply. It took a few moments for Ben to realize this was an answer to his previous question. 

“Care less,” he snapped and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. 

“I care as I would’ve cared about any friend who’d come to me like this in the middle of the night,” Gwil added, frowning. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, though based on the stunt you’ve pulled at Cool Cat, no offence, I can imagine what reception you’re probably used to. This isn’t a special treatment. Not here.”

“Here?” Ben jerked his head in a challenge. “What would the “here” be?”

“Not in the streets and not in a wrestling cage,” Gwilym said calmly and set off to the fridge, taking out a tall bottle of wine. “Would you pass me glasses from the shelf over there?”

Ben did as asked and placed two of them on the counter in front of his host. They looked so shiny and delicate he was afraid he’d crush them. But Gwil handled them without hesitation, his long fingers well-kept and classy just like the glasses. Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Now... I’m really sorry I don’t know much about wine,” Gwil smiled in a sort of apology and pushed one of the glasses back on Ben’s side. “I got this in a birthday basket from grandma, so... I guess it should be alright.”

It was... posh, Ben decided. He’d never seen Prime Minister’s house, but he imagined this bottle of wine would fit there perfectly. Along with fresh bread, fruits and chocolate and... his fantasy ended there. Just stuff. Lots of fancy stuff they didn’t need. This wine though... it smelled good. Ben had never drunk it before. The only alcohol he encountered on regular basis was cheap vodka his boss insisted on so no one in the cage would care their face was being smashed.   
This wouldn’t be much different, right? 

With how Ben felt his knees trembling and hands shaking, he knew he could use a drink to stop the twisty feeling of his insides. And maybe it would help to forget just how hungry he was. The night back then, he’d been hurt more than anticipated, which meant no good fighting. No good fighting, no money. No food. Today he hadn’t eaten anything, and Gwilym’s invitations felt more like a torture. 

Hesitantly, Ben took a sip of his wine and was surprised to discover that no, it was nothing like vodka. It smelled amazing, it was sweet, spicy and fruity with a kick. He downed the rest in a matter of seconds.

“Shit, that’s good,” he gasped in disbelief.

Gwilym refilled the glass and his smile was warm. “I’m glad.”

Both men looked at each other for a long, quiet moment. Air almost cracked with tension.

“I...,” Gwilym stuttered and stepped back, “I should get the dinner ready.”

“I don’t want your food,” Ben said immediately and put his glass back on the table. Better make it clear. Right here, right now. 

Gwilym huffed, already digging in the fridge. “Well, so be it, but I’m hungry.”

No, you’re not, Ben thought as he watched the other man take out the homemade deep-dish lasagne, prepared but uncooked, and place it carefully in the heated oven. You’ve never been hungry.

Soon, the delicious smell of melted cheese and tomatoes filled the air, leaving Ben swallow furiously. In the meantime, Gwilym once again refilled his glass and manoeuvred them both to the table with a small bowl of peanuts.

“You won’t even ask why I’m here,” Ben said after a while, his voice quiet. “I thought that’d be the first thing you’d ask.”

Gwilym lowered his eyes to stare at the wooden pattern of his table. “I don’t care,” he said. “I suppose you want to tell me, sooner or later, but take your time if you need it. I’m just glad that... I’m glad. To see you again. I missed you a great deal.”

“You missed me?” Ben didn’t sound surprised, but light emphasis on the first word made the sentence bitter.

“All the time,” Gwilym’s voice got hoarse. “Every day. Ever since... I never stopped.”

Ben let out a harsh chuckle. “Well, you said it yourself. Some things need to be sacrificed. You got what you wanted.”

“I did not.”

“That’s too bad.”

The same moment the oven timer went off, startling them both with the sharp noise. Gwilym let out a breath and got up to take care of the food. It smelled something divine, and sure enough, Gwilym served it on two plates and decorated with parsley. He put one of the portions in front of Ben who seemed close to tears, watching the hot meal the way one would look at a pile of dynamite.

“I didn’t poison it, you know,” Gwilym joked and added: “If you won’t finish it all, I can just pack the rest for you to take home. Along with the rest.”

At least half of the bowl was still full. Ben thought of Joe. He couldn’t refuse to take food for him, out of pride or anything like that. And though Ben felt he’d prefer whoring himself out for scraps again than accept anything from Gwilym, he couldn’t ignore the opportunity. For Joe, he said to himself, this is for Joe.

Gwilym’s face lit up when Ben grudgingly took the cutlery, cut himself a first piece, and put it in his mouth.

He’d never eaten anything like that before, used to his diet of cheap alga and an occasional stale sandwich. The cheese and Béchamel sauce were thick and gooey, mixing with the tomato purée and minced meat, all flavours complementing each other, unbelievably delicious. Ben let out a sigh and if he were hungry before, now he became bloody ravenous. Quickly, he worked his way through the pasta, barely giving himself a time to chew, until he was met with an empty plate.

Gwil watched him with a soft smile. “Do you want some more?” he asked. “There’s still enough left.”

Ben didn’t answer, just staring at the empty plate.

It shouldn’t be like this. Place like this, food like that... it was all so fucking normal for Gwilym. But he should have had that. All Ben’s emotions rose again like a giant wave. He wanted... Just the thought of his and Joe’s room made him nauseous and suddenly, he felt guilty as hell. How many people like him were out there, Queenies, worn and hungry in their houses falling apart? This was wrong, god, so wrong... 

“Fucking shit!” Ben exclaimed and his eyes glistened as he jumped up and threw the empty plate against the wall.

It shattered in hundreds little pieces.

“Ben!”

“Shut up!”

Gwilym quickly sat back onto his chair. Ben was red in the face but forced himself to breathe. In and out. In and out. The tension was palpable. And silence.

“Do you feel better?” Gwilym asked after a while.

“Do you?” Ben snapped. 

This time, Gwilym did stand up. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please,” Ben scoffed. “As if couldn’t be honest, even with yourself. The only reason you’re like this, the only reason you let me in and gave me dinner is because you feel guilty, as you fucking should. And it’s just so good, isn’t it, when I accept, all forgotten, all forgiven, huh? Not gonna happen, mister.”

“Maybe you could’ve just say so,” Gwilym said coldly, “without smashing my plates. And tonight, you came to me. Why?”

“Now you’re asking,” Ben mumbled and continued a bit clearer. “You work for the government... but you’re also in the city council,” he said simply.

Gwilym nodded. “Briefly. Why?”

Ben tucked his hands deeply in the pockets of his hoodie. “I don’t care for how long,” he frowned. “There’s your retinal scan in their database, so you’ve got access to all their buildings.”

“Oh, of course!” Gwilym spread his arms in mocked willingness, finally losing his nerve. “Where should I take you? Just make a pick – the city hall, central post, swimming pool?”

“The morgue,” Ben said, and his face showed clearly he wasn’t joking. “Few hours ago, Luke Mercury-Deacon died and was brought there to stay until burial. We need to get to the body.”

Gwilym raised an eyebrow. “We? Who we?”

Ben looked at him in disbelief. “Double Q,” he clarified with a smirk. “That’s who, you idiot.”

There was a long silence, interrupted only by Gwilym’s shaky breaths. He wavered, white as chalk, and his eyes and mouth were frozen in an expression of stunned surprise.

“You seriously didn’t...,” Ben hesitated before a soft giggle, “... not even a little suspicion?”

Gwilym waved his arms. “No!” he exclaimed desperately. “No, you... can’t be! You can’t be... that!” 

“Who else would be “that” than those who have nothing,” Ben hissed, “and will only gain from a change?”

“You’ve been in the centre tonight,” Gwilym mumbled while trying to keep his face calm. Suddenly, it all came together, though he wished he wouldn’t have to see the final picture. “Not just to find me, haven’t you?”

Ben chuckled. “Not really, no. We had our fun, and then I walked to your flat. Meeting you half-way was a coincidence.”

“And the statue...”

“Quite a nice big bang,” Ben said with a hint of pride, “wasn’t it?”

“Those people could’ve died!” Gwilym snapped. “Innocent people!”

Ben snorted. “Hardly innocent.”

“What happened to you, Ben?” Gwilym asked and folded his arms on his chest just to mask the shakiness of his breath. His eyes begged. His mind begged as well. Please, Ben. Say it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t... tell me you couldn’t...

“You know damn well what happened to me,” Ben said and his eyes glistened. At the moment, he looked dangerous, like rat in a corner. His muscles stood out. “And in the whole pile of shit, you’ve been the worst.”

“Ben, I’m-“

“If you say that you’re sorry one more time, I fucking swear to god I’ll poke your eye out and just take that one with me.”

Gwilym looked down and leaned against the desk of the table. His head was spinning. He felt hurt, hurt and betrayed by the life itself.

“Luke Mercury-Deacon was a good man,” he said colourlessly. “He didn’t deserve this. And if you think I’ll let you or your friends anywhere near him even now, you’re mistaken.”

The remaining lasagne on the stove were still hot, and the air tasted of cheese and tomatoes, combined with a breeze from the air freshener. Ben reached in the pocket of his hoodie and slowly pulled out a gun. 

He pointed at Gwilym.

“You will do what you’re told,” he said, and his eyes narrowed. It was clear this wasn’t the first time he held a gun. And perhaps... not the first time someone wandered in front of it. 

“Ben,” Gwilym swallowed, staring blankly in the gunpoint, “can’t you just let him rest in peace? Whatever your business in the morgue is... You’re not that kind of person, Ben, whatever Double Q does, I know this isn’t you. You don’t want this.” He looked imploringly into the wide blue eyes. “I know you, Ben, I know I do. I couldn’t be that wrong.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “You done?” he asked dryly. “Good. Let’s get moving. And make no mistake, I’ll be aiming at you the whole time. You do precisely what I tell you. Nothing more, nothing less, understood?”

Gwilym cocked his head. “And if I don’t? You shoot my head off?”

“Think of your sweet old grandma,” Ben smiled coldly. “Her friends are dead, her only daughter left this planet, you’re the only family she’s got. How do you think her face will look like tomorrow, when they bring her the news about your sudden passing? If you do as we say, no one will hurt you, or her. We get in, we get out. That’s all.” Ben tilted his head and hid the gun back into his pocket. “So?”

Gwilym pressed his lips tight.

The morgue was a small, separate building in the back of city hospital’s area, only fifteen minutes of drive from the apartment. Gwilym could safely say those were the strangest minutes of his life, with Ben and his gun on the passenger’s seat and radio turned on some upbeat jingle. Luckily, the roads were mostly empty.

“Park over there,” Ben said and pointed a bit away from the entrance. “We’ll walk.”

Gwilym obediently pulled over and turned off the engine. Was it always like this, or did the hollow, reddish shadow of Almira low on horizon look even more dreary than usual?

Right in front of the morgue’s plain, metal door, there were three men already waiting for them. All of them dressed in hoodies similar to Ben’s, bandanas covering their faces.

“You’re late,” one of them said instead of a greeting. Gwilym noticed Ben squirm under the cold stare of the grey eyes – the only part of that man’s face visible.

“I’m sorry,” Ben mumbled. “There’s been a delay.”

“A dinner,” Gwilym said casually with a bit of a suicidal glee, considering Ben’s gun still pointed at him. But the look on Ben’s face was worth it. “We had dinner, a glass or two of wine...”

“Shut up,” Ben hissed and his face reddened. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“It would’ve been a nice evening if he didn’t turn out to be your brainwashed little puppet,” Gwilym glared at the dark trio. “You need to stop whatever you think you’re doing. You’ll bring Queen to a civil war if you-“

“Benjamin,” one of the men interrupted Gwilym, and sounded a bit exasperated, “take your boyfriend to the scanner, we don’t have all night. And keep him quiet.”

Gwilym let out a yelp when Ben’s large hands twisted his arms behind his back and pushed him forward. Perhaps only now he realized just how strong Ben was. Gwilym knew there was no way of twisting himself free. He felt the stone-hard muscles even through several layers of clothing. The retinal scanner was a small electronic device next to the door. Ben pushed Gwil closer and pressed the green button to start. Gwilym saw the familiar flash of reading laser before the machine clinked in approval and the door unlocked. The three masked men entered first, followed by Gwilym and Ben.

Weak electric light flickered when turned on, illuminating a short corridor with several door. One of them led into the morgue.

The room wasn’t bigger than Gwil’s apartment, but it sure looked like it was. All white and sterile green, floor covered by mated tiles, and there was nothing except for several small tables pushed to the walls and then six big ones, in the middle of the room. The air was dense and sticky with smell of disinfectant, balm fluid and something else they didn’t want to think about.

On one of the tables, there was a body covered head to toe by white cloth.

“May he rest in peace,” Gwilym whispered, staring at the contours of the hidden face, but a sharp tug from Ben quickly quieted him. His strained shoulders hurt.

“I didn’t really believe it,” one of the dark men mumbled and his voice was thick with something Gwilym didn’t understand. “But...”

Ben pushed Gwilym to the wall, so the three men could surround the table. Something sharp dug right into Gwil’s thigh - a corner of a small, metal table with an evening suit, trousers, shirt, tie and some personal belongings like wallet and watches laid out.

Suddenly, Gwil got an idea.

“Please... Ben...,” he whispered almost inaudibly, “my shoulders hurt. And my wrists, so freaking much...”

Ben rolled his eyes and let them go a bit loose.

“Can’t you just... stop holding me completely?” Gwil bargained. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He winked teasingly. “Or does it turn you on?”

“Shut up!”

“Shut up you both!” one of the black men snapped. “Benjamin, for the love of everything, just do what he wants and take him out. Wait for us there, for fuck’s sake.”

Just before Ben forcibly pushed him out of the door, Gwilym used his freed hands, grabbed something from the small table and slid it into his pocket. Nobody noticed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Ben mumbled as he closed the door behind them to give the three men some privacy for... whatever they planned to do there. 

“Well, I’m sorry,” Gwilym scoffed, “I had quite a day, you won’t believe it.”

Ben snickered. “You can talk about it with your grandchildren, if you like.”

“I can talk about it to the police, you know?” Gwilym looked up and their eyes met. “Or... will you kill me when this is over?”

“Kill you?” Ben blinked. Just for a short moment, he looked softer and vulnerable. Then he just shook his head with a chuckle. “No, we won’t kill you. At least not tonight. Cleaning up bodies is a fucking nuisance.”

“So that’s what they’re doing in there?” Gwilym asked quietly. “Cleaning up?”

“You may be surprised, but we don’t have a cup of tea and a talk about our feelings that often, they and I,” Ben shook his head. “I’m doing what I’m told.”

Gwilym tilted his head. “Have you ever thought you’re serving the wrong masters?”

“And how do you know you serve the good ones?” Ben asked back.

Before Gwilym could answer, the three men walked out of the morgue and headed to the exit without a word. They used Gwilym’s eyes one more time to get out, and then all four members of Double Q disappeared into the nearest dark street without a single word goodbye.

It was a strange ride home.


	12. Power to Love

“Grandma?”  
“Gwilly! Why are you calling, so early? Did something happen?”  
“Eh...”  
“Gwilly?”  
“No, nothing. Nothing happened, I just... wanted to check if you’re alright.”  
“Of course, I’m alright, Gwilym. Are you?”  
“Yes, yes, of course, just... bad night, that’s all. I’m sorry I woke you up.”  
“No, I wasn’t sleeping, too many things to do. We hired special forces to clean the streets before most people wake up. You don’t forget to calm Brian and Roger down.”  
“I know, grandma, don’t worry. Just an accident, no one in danger... got it.”  
“Good boy. Now, go back to bed.”  
“Thank you, and... take care. Be careful.”

Gwilym didn’t even know how he managed to snooze until his alarm woke him up. The apartment looked strange, lonely and quiet, as if Ben left something behind, something that was now screaming about his absence.

There was half-a-bowl of cold lasagne on the counter and shards of a plate on the ground. Gwilym didn’t have the heart to touch them. Instead, he took a shower, brushed his teeth and got dressed in one of his meticulous suits.

Everything looked just as usual. Gwilym sighed, but his eyes looked hard. Honestly, did he care? After all, yesterday never happened. 

The Queen City had been slowly waking up, and people rushed to get to work on time. The traffic in the centre had been just as heavy as usual.  
Gwilym tapped on the driving wheel, while the memories of the previous night flooded in, one after one in a quick sequence. He sighed. Just few hours earlier in this very car... Ben was sitting right here, right next to him. It felt like something lingered, and it made Gwil’s stomach clench painfully. He couldn’t chew on his nails or his lips, so he found himself gnawing on the inside of his cheek while he pulled over to the small parking lot next to the hotel.

No matter Ben, Double Q or anyone else, Gwilym thought sternly, you have a job, Gwilym Lee. Do you hear me? A fucking job, and a shit ton of stuff depending on it.  
That night is over, Ben is gone, no one has to know... So, forget it. Forget it.

Quickly, Gwilym walked across the hotel lobby, nodding at the receptionist. He was late already, and only hoped Brian and Roger wouldn’t mind. Oh, who are we kidding here, of course they will, a man got murdered just in front of them and-

-and then a terroristic organisation broke into a morgue because of his body-

\- but we don’t talk about that. We don’t think about that.

“It was a truly unfortunate accident,” Gwilym said quietly, trying to prepare the sentence to make it sound natural. It sucked. Well. “I’m terribly sorry, such an unfortunate event, the investigation is being organised, you will be informed. We truly apologise for the accident. An accident. An accident.”

He didn’t even notice how his fingers weaved into each other as he was trying to gain control over his tone, over his posture, over his face, over his voice. And over his brain. He recalled the motionless, cold body under the sheet. It was such an unfortunate accident...

At the end of the lobby, a large golden sign “Out of order” was hanging from the elevator door. Gwilym sighed and turned to the second fastest way how to get to his charges – a narrow fire escape staircase. 

Maybe it would be alright he was late. Maybe they didn’t even want to see him. Gwilym grimaced. Or they wouldn’t had wanted if they knew what bullshit he was going to feed them.

“Gwilym Lee?”

Quickly, Gwil turned around. He was just at the landing of the maintenance floor, only him - and two men dressed in black suits. Each was at least as tall as Gwil but about three times more muscular. Wide shoulders were pressing against the jackets.

“Yes?” Gwilym frowned. “How can I- ah!“

They shoved him against the wall, wide hand pressing Gwil’s throat. Gwilym choked and kicked desperately in an instinctive attempt to free himself, but the attacker didn’t even budge, his grip got only tighter.

“What about we have a little chat,” one of the men whispered, leaning so close Gwilym could feel his hot breath on his cheek, “about your little night-time adventure? And don’t even try screaming, you little shit, because believe me, you’d get silent way before anyone could get here. Understood?”

He loosened the grip on the throat and flipped Gwilym around instead, caught his wrists and brutally twisted them back. Gwilym whimpered, his face now pressed so close to the wall he could almost taste the white paint. He thought of Ben.

“I think I didn’t hear you properly.” The grip got tighter and more painful every second. 

“Understood,” Gwilym whispered. “B-but what-t do you want?”

“We want to know what you have been doing last night,” the second bruiser said. “And don’t even try lying. We know more than you think.”

Gwilym froze, but that second of hesitation cost him. He cried out when his attacker kicked his shin.

“Talk!”

The scanner, Gwilym realized, or the car. One of those must’ve given him away. Either way, there was no point in lying and he wouldn’t dare to.

“T-the morgue,” he said, trying to ignore the pressure building on his chest as the man in black leaned against him more and more, crashing him against the wall. How long could his ribs last? “City morgue.”

“And why?”

“I- ah,” Gwil groaned when his wrists got twisted some more, “I wanted to p-pay my respects, I knew Luke from when I was a child and grandma- ah! – grandma had told me there’d be no public funeral...”

“Was anybody with you?”

“No!” Gwilym felt tears of pain run down his cheek. “I went alone, I... it was... idea of the moment. Stupid but... I...”

“Pay your respects, huh?” the attacker growled and flipped Gwilym again to face him. “You fucking liar.”

The fist hit its target brutally and precisely. Something cracked. Gwilym cried out and feeling a taste of blood on his lips.

“I’ll ask you once again,” the man repeated with a clear threat in his voice. “Who were you with? What did you do? What did you take?” Every question was followed by a hard squeeze of Gwil’s throat. “Where is it?”

“Is what?” Gwilym croaked. “I was alone, just to take a look, just to pray for him-“

“So, you know how to pray?” the disgusting man smirked. “That’s convenient.”

Gwilym let out a deep gagging noise when the next punch headed for his stomach, followed by a kick in the shin.

He fell.

“Bloody-“ the attacker kicked him again, targeting stomach, “-Queenie-“ kick, “-mother-“ kick, “-fucker!” And another.

Gwilym didn’t even cry anymore, just whimpered.

“No...,” he squeezed out, pain taking away his breath, “... no, I... not lying, I... was alone, no one else. I went alone, didn’t take anything... please...”

“Where are Mercury-Deacon’s personal possessions then?” the other man, standing by until now, asked sweetly. “You were the only one there.”

“I don’t know...”

Both men looked at each other and exchanged nods. Then, each grabbing Gwil under one shoulder, they lifted him back on his feet.

“Now, you better listen, very carefully,” the second man hissed. “Your precious grandma might be perhaps Prime Minister, but no one will ever forget what you really are. You’re a dirty crossbred scum and believe me, if we ever find out you’ve been lying to us... God have mercy on you – and everyone you hold dear. Think of grandma, like a good boy, and tell us the truth.”

Gwilym swallowed. It hurt. “It’s the truth,” he croaked. “Why... would I lie?”

“Don’t even try anything funny, Gwilym Lee,” the man warned. “Consider carefully and mind your own business. And... if you want to talk about this with anyone, well, you can try. Consider this our goodbye.”

Gwilym cried out at the last, unexpected blow to his stomach and didn’t even struggle when the first man grabbed his hair and banged his head against the wall.

Only vaguely and hazily, Gwilym watched the two leave. Nothing hurt anymore, or everything, he wasn’t sure... and it was hard to think about it.  
What was he...? Oh, the world swayed. Funny. Holy shit, they did beat him, Gwilym realized slowly as he stumbled several steps forward. Oh, no. No, wrong direction. He went to see Brian and Roger, he must go up. Were the steps always this high? Were they always floating? Gwilym wondered about the lights around him. Pretty. He wished Ben could see them. He was better than these two, Gwilym decided, yesterday. Didn’t beat him up. Good Ben. God, his head hurt. He felt nauseous.

Which door was it? Which floor?

He wasn’t even sure why he was going where... where was he going again? And why anyway? But whatever, he knew he had to get there, and that was just enough. 

He knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

Brian’s voice. Oh, yes, he was going to Brian and Roger... why... why again? Oh, yes, to tell them it was an accident. That Luke’s death was an accident. If only his head didn’t hurt so badly... But no. Not now, he’s got job to do.

“Good morning!” Gwilym said when walking through the door, but then stopped. 

Brian and Roger were sitting at the small table, half through their breakfast, but they just... gaped at him.

In his hazy state, Gwilym wasn’t sure why they stared so weirdly, nor was he sure why did his lower face feel wet. He only knew the headache was getting stronger, as well as the haze.

He saw Brian stand up. “Gwilym, for the love of-“

Everything went dark.

“Gwilym!”

He felt a carpet against his cheek and a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Gwilym!”

“We need to call a doctor. Right now.”

“No...,” Gwilym managed to wheeze and tried to stir. His whole body hurt and the world swayed. “No doctor, I... I’m alright... It was an accident.”

“Accident my arse,” someone said from above.

“Please...” Gwilym slowly opened his eyes and tried to sit up, ignoring the nausea and ringing in his ears. “No one can see me...”

Brian was kneeling on the ground right next to him, and Roger stood by their side. They exchanged looks and Gwilym feared they wouldn’t listen to him anyway, but...

“Close the door, Rog,” Brian said quietly. “Gwilym, can you move yourself to the bed? I’m afraid we can’t lift you.”

Gwil nodded and braced himself. It took a while, it hurt, and he thought he could easily pass out again, but with Roger’s help he staggered to the wide bed and collapsed on it.

“Legs up,” Roger instructed. Somewhere in the background, Brian heaved himself back up with a grunt. Hazily, Gwilym felt Roger untying his shoes but felt too tired and nauseous to think about it. “Don’t sleep,” Roger said with a stern tone, “you fall asleep and we call a doctor immediately, clear?”

“Yeah,” Gwilym mumbled, forcing his eyes to stay open, “just... just give me a minute.”

They did, and sat silently while Gwilym was trying his best to put together all the confusing pieces his world felt into. His mind was slowly clearing, though the nausea grew.  
Suddenly, he sat up sharply. 

“I,” he gasped, pale in the face, “I will-“

Roger reacted quickly, grabbed a big bowl of fruit from the nightstand, dumped the content unceremoniously on the ground and pushed it in Gwilym’s lap.

Just in time.

“I... sorry...,” Gwilym tried to apologise in between heaving as he filled the vessel with the content of his stomach. “I... god...,” he bent over the bowl once again. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need,” Brian said, looking at the younger man softly, while Roger only scoffed and took the bowl to pour it out into the toilet. When he returned, Brian sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling now? It looks like a nasty concussion.”

“I’m much better,” Gwilym said truthfully. “Thank you.” 

The world felt real again.

“Now I should probably-”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Brian said, gently pushed Gwilym back to lie down and reached out to loosen his tie and several top buttons of his shirt. Then he froze. He and Roger exchanged looks.

Gwilym frowned, glancing from one to the other. “What is it?”

“You don’t want us to call a doctor,” Brian said slowly, “but... maybe police would be better.”

“No!” Gwilym gasped and sat up again so fast Roger quickly pushed the bowl back in his lap. “Please, don’t!”

“Someone attacked you, Gwilym,” Brian retorted. “Attacked and beat you. This isn’t a game.”

“No one attacked me, I... I fell. Down the stairs.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Fell down the stairs? And hit your head?”

“Exactly,” Gwil nodded gratefully. “I hit my head.”

“And I suppose the stairs also left those imprints of fingers on your throat?”

“Yes, they- what...,” Gwilym realized what Brian had said and hesitantly raised his hand to his neck. It hurt. “Fuck...,” he whispered. “Fuck, I’m so screwed, so-“

He wanted to say something more, but his stomach reacted faster, and once again he made a good use of that fruit bowl. It took nearly five minutes of heaving while having a solid panic attack before Gwil finally seemed coherent again.

“Will you tell us what happened?” Roger asked quietly. “Considering you can’t tell either doctor or police? I mean, not that I promise we will be able to help you, but... we’ve seen some shit already.”

Gwilym let out a small smile. “I suppose you have, but...,” he gulped again, “I can’t. I tell a soul and grandma...”

“They threatened to hurt her?” Brian asked and few more wrinkles appeared on his forehead. “Is this Double Q we’re talking about?”

“No! I mean, they said... Them too, but...,” Gwilym stammered and then hid his face in his hands. “I’m so screwed,” he repeated breathlessly, “so screwed, I can’t... I should rather throw myself out of window than-“

“Gwilym!” Roger reached out and forced him to look up, holding his wrists. For a man his age he was surprisingly strong. “We can’t make that decision for you. But in this shitshow of a situation Brian and I are the only ones who just came here. With no ties to anybody involved.”

“What about Mercury-Deacons?” Gwilym asked flatly and freed his hands with a tug. “I thought you want to find them.”

“You know where they are?” Brian asked immediately.

Gwilym shook his head. “Nobody knows, maybe except grandma. And maybe Luke and Laura. But I imagine... you’re not the only ones desperate to find them.”

Roger frowned. “You think Double Q’s after them?”

“I thought about it,” Gwilym admitted. “I think... they want to find them, or they already know and would do anything to hide the truth. Including murder. Last night... they forced me to let them in the morgue to see Luke’s body.”

Brian’s breath hitched and he softly put his hand on Gwil’s.

“I think it wasn’t you two they wanted to kill in the first place,” Gwilym continued, too beaten and tired to sugar-coat things. “I think it was him after all. Because of his parents. You dead would be just a welcome bonus, not the point.”

“But why would they care if we know about Freddie and Deaky?” Roger said, looking beyond frustrated. “It doesn’t make any sense! And if Luke knew – would he really just stand there if his parents were in danger? We texted with them we know they’re alive. Just... hiding somewhere. Why would Double Q kill Luke for that?”

“And why would they break into a morgue in the middle of the night?” Brian added, deep in thought. “You didn’t hear or see anything?”

Gwilym shook his head. “They waited outside of the morgue, talking before we- before I arrived, then... when we got to the body - I think they said something like “I can’t believe it” but that doesn’t make much sense, I’m afraid. They spent around five minutes in total in there while I and- ... while I alone waited outside.”

Roger frowned. “They let you wait outside alone?”

“Eh... yes, they did,” Gwilym nodded and tried to avoid that piercing stare.

“And it was them who beat you this morning?” Roger continued. “The same guys?”

“This morning?” Gwilym shivered upon the fresh memory. “This morning, whoever that was... they weren’t Double Q. I’m certain of that.”

The two old men looked at each other in surprise. 

“How can you be sure?” Brian asked. “Double Q surely has many members.”

“Queenies,” Gwilym countered and pushed himself slightly up on the bed. “And no matter how many members Double Q has, none of them could afford those suits and watches, I guarantee you that. Besides, Queenies would be perhaps able to call me a dirty crossbread scum but hardly a Queenie motherfucker." His tone was light and uncaring. He heard such slurs directed on him before, no news there. "These guys...," Gwilym continued, "they surely downloaded the data from scanner and find out I’d been in the morgue. But they had no way of knowing I wasn’t alone, I hope.”

“You didn’t tell them Double Q forced you?”

“God, no,” he looked up, surprised. “Of course, I didn’t. These guys... whoever they are... they beat me because they thought I took Luke’s personal things. They wanted them, for some reason.”

“So, we do know what Double Q did there!” Roger said, momentarily lit up in victory.

Gwilym shook his head. “We don’t. Because...,” with a painful hiss he reached into an inner pocket of his suit and took out a phone and a wallet, “... because I actually did take them.”

Brian and Roger gaped.

“It was an idea of a moment!” Gwil defended himself. “I thought Double Q perhaps wanted them and... whatever information Luke kept in his phone or documents, he surely considered it private. I wanted to keep them safe and hand them to his sister today. It was the least I could do. That’s... all. You know everything.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Brian said gently, but his tone made Gwilym suddenly gulp. “You’re lying, Gwilym. Not fully but... you’re not honest with us either.”

“I told you everything!” Gwilym protested and tried to get up, but his head spun. “I swear!”

“So...,” Roger sighed in disappointment, “... you’re telling us you involuntarily but alone went to the morgue where you met Double Q , then they let you wait outside – alone – until they finished, and you waited, being all good and obedient? Not to mention you, from what I understand, weren’t planning on telling anyone about the encounter, even though it would lead to an arrest of dangerous terrorists the government’s trying to catch for years. And only few hours later you let those two suits beat you bloody just to hide that you weren’t alone in the morgue – and you wouldn’t tell anyone about that either if you haven’t happen to collapse on our doorstep? Gwilym...”

The atmosphere shifted and became unbreathable, full of nasty suspicion.

“Are you working for them?” Brian frowned and his face tensed. 

Gwilym exhaled, and his stomach clenched once again. “I told you,” he whispered. “I'm telling you I’m so screwed...”


	13. Listen to the story 'bout the dream that's broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really apologise for the long break I had to take in my writing. But I hope you haven't left this story and enjoy the new chapters nonetheless!

_The building was neglected and dirty, and only the people who had nowhere else to go sought shelter in its basement, squatting on mouldy mattresses among dust and broken furniture. Nobody dared to make use of the higher floors which creaked every time you took a step._

_Gwilym swallowed in unease when the ceiling made a noise and several pieces of plaster crumbled and flew down. How he wished they could’ve met anywhere else, but... His eyes wandered around mouldy, browned walls with water stains painting as scars upon skin. Slivers of light shone from the outside, as if invited in to ignite these dusty hues. The air was stale and thick._

_Finally. Quick steps getting nearer tore him from deep thoughts and Gwil could feel himself smiling._

_The door wailed when his boyfriend burst in._

_“Gwil!” Ben lit up and quickly closed the door behind him. His voice jumped up and down but for once, he paid it no mind._

_He’d just celebrated his sixteenth birthday and his body was caught in the middle between a boy and a man. Gwilym saw nothing bad about that, no matter how often Ben complained. There was something angelic about the face that stubbornly remained childlike with not even a trace of stubble on the round cheeks. Gwilym had to shave regularly. His prominent cheekbones made him look more mature than the blond boy, but his overall physique was one of a lanky foal with at least twice as many limbs as one should have._

_Clumsily, Gwil scraped himself from the ground and stumbled forward. Ben quickly caught him and closed him in a tight hug._

_“I missed you...,” he whispered, breathing in the smell of Gwil’s cologne._

_Gwil nibbled at the skin on Ben’s neck, feeling the rushed heartbeat pumping under his lips, until Ben firmly tugged his head up._

_“You wanna...,” Gwilym breathed and let himself be dragged into a deep kiss._

_Ben nodded vigorously, already pushing his boyfriend towards old mattress in the corner. They didn’t even make themselves properly comfortable when Ben whined because Gwil had wasted no time and sneaked his hand in Ben’s trousers._

_“Couldn’t wait- I need-“_

_“I know,” Gwil smiled upon seeing Ben’s strained and reddening face, while working on his hardness the way he knew Ben liked. That day was hardly their first time after all. This was their usual nest of love, lost from the world, for almost a year. It took only few minutes of Ben’s squirming and moaning until he came all over Gwil’s hand, holding onto him for dear life._

_Gwil’s heart swelled when Ben looked at him, his eyes content and loving._

_“Now let me,” Ben’s eyes twinkled._

_Gwilym stopped him. “No need.” His face blushed beet-red. “I- eh...”_

_Ben realized his boyfriend’s cock was all limp and damp and chuckled without any real malice. “Wow, you do love me.”_

_Gwil swatted his hand away._

_For a moment they just laid next to each other in silence, feeling each other’s presence. Ben’s hand wandered around Gwil’s bony chest, drawing abstract images. Minutes flew._

_“Want caramels?” Gwil mumbled sleepily._

_“Hm...”_

_Gwilym reached over into his backpack, pulled out a small sack of the sticky sweet treat, fished for one and slowly put it between Ben’s waiting lips. The blond boy only sighed and settled more comfortably._

_“When do you have to be back?”_

_Gwilym shrugged. “In three hours, more or less, I guess. I told mum I’d be in the library; it closes at eight.”_

_“Would she be too mad?” Ben sat up, looking down at Gwil on the dusty mattress. He looked worried. “Maybe we shouldn’t-”_

_“Ben, hey,” Gwilym sat up as well and quickly pressed a kiss on Ben’s lips. “None of it. I won’t hear it.” He repeated the kiss, more urgent and fierier than before. “I love you and till the day I die, I swear – and there’s nothing in the world I’d ever put before you. Nothing. Not ever.”_

_Ben sighed and touched Gwil’s hand, playing absentmindedly with the fingers. “I believe you,” he whispered, “but... it’s hard, so hard and... I’m scared, Gwil.” Blue eyes now looked wet no matter how Ben tried to mask it._

_“Scared? Of us? For us?”_

_“I’m not like you,” Ben said, looking sternly down. “I’m a Queenie.”_

_“I’m a Queenie too,” Gwilym reminded and sat up straighter, ”what else would I be?”_

_“I don’t think your father would agree.”_

_“Fuck my father. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. None of the Earthers do. I know that others- others like me – they try to forget where they belong to but, Ben, Queen is my home. You are my home. And I’ll never ever betray that. I’m a Queenie – always have, always will.”_

_Ben didn’t answer, so Gwil only pushed himself closer and took his boyfriend in his arms._

_“Then why is all this?” Ben whispered and his voice broke. “You’d be a shame of your family if you brought me home.”_

_“One word from you and I will. I’m not scared.”_

_“Don’t be stupid,” Ben scoffed. “I’d make a nice picture in the Centre. Without a father, street rat, a future Queenie whore.”_

_Ben!” Gwilym yelped. “You can’t talk like that!”_

_“I live in a brothel, Gwil! Mum slept with people for money! And I- I know I’ll end up like that, I just know it, it’s... it’s gonna happen.” Ben pulled his knees closer to his chin, trying to hide his shiver. “It’s just... gonna.”_

_“No!” Gwilym quickly grabbed Ben’s shoulders and shook him, his eyes wide. “Ben, I... I won’t let you! Anything but that!”_

_“What else can I do?” Ben shrieked. “Since mum died, I- I can’t-” Finally, the tears overpowered him, and he sobbed. “I’m trying to work but it’s not enough, I’ll end up like that, there’s no other way to make a living, not one!”_

_“There’s always a way,” Gwilym’s eyes were sharp when he squeezed Ben’s hand and burned with two stubborn sparks. “You’re more than that. This world... isn’t fair. But we’ll make it different, one day. You and I. Together. Queenies, Earthers... one day it won’t matter a bit. You’ll go to proper school, you’ll find a great job, earn lots of money, and we’ll work for all those who think they have no hope to get better. Because they do. You do.”_

_Ben sighed and some tension left his shoulders when he leaned for a kiss, soft and tender._

_“We’ll do it together, won’t we?” he whispered. “We’re gonna do great things.”_

_“Such great things,” Gwilym nodded and pulled him even closer. His eyes closed in a bliss. “We’ll save Queen. For all the Queenies. For us. For everybody.”_

_Ben smiled through the tears. “Together.”_

“Here, this should be enough.” Roger appeared from the bathroom with a cup of water and some painkillers.

Gwilym watched him weakly from the bed.

“So... this person, this Ben...,” Brian said to sum up the facts Gwilym had been giving them for the last half an hour, “... you he threatened you with a gun?”

“Yes.”

“And he forced you to break into the morgue?”

“Yes...,” Gwilym looked down in a quiet shame. This was coming out completely wrong.

Brian’s worried wrinkles deepened. “And you say he’d been there when the statue exploded?” he asked further.

Gwilym looked down. “He said it’d been quite a nice big bang,“ he mumbled.

“And you know now he’s a member of Double Q?”

“He means well! I know him, he’d never hurt anybody, he’s a good man!” 

“Here,” Roger pressed the glass of water in Gwil’s hand and offered the pills. “Swallow. You’ll feel better.”

Gwilym did as asked, but then immediately turned to Brian with a desperate plea.

“You must understand,” he urged. “None of this is Ben’s fault. You can’t blame him for anything.”

“If he really blew up that statue and killed Luke, I think we could blame him for something,” Roger said and exchanged glances with Brian.

Gwilym frowned but looked down at his hands resting on the white blanket. “No matter what,” he whispered. “I’d rather die than see him hurt. He’s the best person I’d ever known and I... I... You must promise me you won’t talk about him anywhere. This is between you and me.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Even if it turns out he’s a violent terrorist?”

“He isn’t,” Gwilym said stubbornly.

“And don’t you think he’s using the fact you stay silent about the night in the morgue? He knew you wouldn’t call the police no matter-”

Gwilym sat up. “Don’t you think I know that?” he snapped, and his tone was sharp. “I don’t care what he thinks, wants or does, I just... You don’t know him,” he added quietly, and his fists tightened. “You know nothing.”

Brian and Roger exchanged worried glances, reluctant to speak. Gwilym hunched his back even more and looked away, his arms wrapped around his middle, trying to be smaller and crawl away, somewhere far, far away. But even though he tried, he couldn’t hide the desperate wetness of his eyes.

“I don’t care,” his voice quivered. “I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t care what you think. I can’t anymore, I... I tried- I’m tr-trying and it... I promised him... I promised!”

“You promised... what?” Roger asked, using the same tone one would use to lure a little fawn. Blindly, he found his husband’s hand resting on the covers.

Gwilym stayed silent and motionless, only his lower lip wobbled. He looked so young, way younger than his actual age and Brian felt a sudden urge of protectiveness – there was something in Gwilym he wanted to hide and keep safe. He needed to know everything about the young man’s life and heal whatever wound Gwilym was hiding underneath. Because he’d been hurt, once, twice, or his whole life, Brian didn’t know, but the pain was unmistakeable. Like a flame of the last candle forgotten in a birthday cake long after the party’s over.

“Gwilym...,” Brian leaned closer with a careful smile, “Gwilym, look at me. It’s alright. Do you hear me? All will be well.”

Gwilym shook his head. “It will not,” he sobbed, his defences quietly falling apart. “I thought it could but... I can’t anymore. I can’t do this anymore, I thought I was strong enough... I’m not. I’m just childish, spoiled, pathetic-“

“Gwilym,” Brian frowned. “You’re not any of those things.”

The seafoam eyes met Brian’s hazel, young and unhappy. “You wouldn’t say that...,” Gwilym whispered, “if you knew... I loved him you know. I’ve never loved anyone before, nor after, not even close the way I loved Ben. And I still do, God help me. And he used to love me back.”

Roger raised his eyebrow. “Does he still?”

Gwilym darkly chuckled. “Is that how it looks like? He hates me and I deserve that. For a good reason. I hurt him you know. Something terrible. Great things need sacrifices, that’s what I told myself to justify it. I promised to create better Queen. For Ben, for myself, for everybody. I thought I could change the world – and nothing and no one could stand in the way. It was pride,” he looked at both old men, urging them to judge him. “I was a stupid, proud idiot who thought he had a great purpose. Rubbish. Because people don’t care, they don’t want others to get better. This is a rotten world, but it opened my eyes. I should’ve looked after my own business. But maybe... I’m just like everybody else. Talking about a moral high ground to justify my sins, yes, that’s it...,” several tears fell down Gwilym’s face. He laid himself bare in front of the two old men in a strange mixture of vulnerable defiance. “I’m tired...,” he sobbed, “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t pretend anymore, I can’t lie anymore, I don’t want to, it’s hard... it’s so bloody hard to go against everybody – people I work with, my friends, my boss, even grandma... It feels like there’s a string inside me, getting stretched tighter and tighter, ready to snap – and I want it to snap, I want this to end, but it never does! And I go on, day by day, fighting a battle that doesn’t even exist, a useless idiot holding onto a dead dream because he’s too weak to live in reality.”

“Come here,” Brian said simply and opened his arms. Gwilym accepted, in a desperate need of comfort, and buried his face in Brian’s shoulder, enveloped in the long white curls and a soft scent of morning coffee and faint traces of yesterday’s cologne. Brian pressed him tightly, stroking the young man’s back, while his eyes met with Roger’s, carrying an unspoken conversation.

“There always comes a moment,” Roger said quietly, “when you see the world isn’t just black and white. We all make mistakes we regret in a long term.” He ignored his husband’s questioning glance. “But in the end, decisions made in past aren’t relevant. There’s only now.”

“There’s no shame in believing in better future,” Brian added. “Hope’s never ridiculous.”

Gwilym huffed. “Now you talk like my mum.”

For several moments they were all quiet, until Gwilym untangled himself from Brian’s arms and pulled himself back quite shyly.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “for the outburst.”

“It’s alright,” Brian assured him. “How are you feeling?”

Gwilym thought about it. The painkillers helped, so all the bruises and contusions hurt less than they probably should, but his head made him queasy.

“I’m fine,” Gwilym sat up straighter and let his feet on the ground. “I need to- sorry, I just... it’s just really confusing. I... Why I came here in the first place - grandma- Prime Minister Dobson wanted me to assure you we’re doing everything in our power to find out what happened yesterday in La Monde. Luke Mercury-Deacon’s death was an unfortunate accident and we’ll do everything to ensure your safety from any further attacks.”

In the dead silence that followed Roger raised an eyebrow. 

“Riiight...,” he finally mumbled while Brian sighed. “Now that we have the official version out of the way...,” Roger stretched his arms. “I don’t believe that poison was meant for us – there was no mistake, those guys breaking in the morgue prove it. We need to find Double Q to find Freddie and Deaky.”

Brian nodded. “I agree. Gwilym – you said you had Luke’s phone...?”

“Breaking in other people’s phones?” Roger chuckled. “Who are you even?”

Vaguely, Gwilym thought they shouldn’t pry into a dead man’s privacy like that but handed the thing over anyway. He wasn’t sure if he liked Brian and Roger’s involvement in the whole thing, for his sake, for their sake, and for Ben’s as well, but a bigger part of him felt relieved to just rest everything on someone else’s shoulders.

“No password,” Brian remarked, and browsed through the phone. Roger was peaking over his shoulder. “The files... I can’t see anything related to Double Q or Freddie or Deaky. And contacts...”

“Wait – give it!” Roger tore the phone from his husband’s hands. “Look here. The messages.”

“What do you mean?”

Even Gwilym leaned forward.

“The texts you exchanged with Deaky,” Roger whispered. “They were sent from this phone. Luke didn’t give us his father’s number – he gave us his own.”

“What does it mean?” Gwilym asked, glancing to Brian’s darkened face.

“It means that the only proof that Freddie and Deaky were alive...,” Brian said slowly, “... is fake. Luke lied to us.”

Gwilym frowned. “So, if Double Q got them – for whatever reason – Luke must’ve been in it as well.”

“We’re taking it the wrong way around,” Roger said and got up. “Luke was trying to hide his parents from Double Q. And everybody else.”

“But why kill him? They could’ve kidnapped him, they needed him,” Gwilym reasoned. The thought of Ben made his stomach sink, but he couldn’t not think logically.

“We know too little to make any conclusions,” Brian got up as well, sliding the phone in his pocket, and gave Roger a quick kiss on the cheek. “We need to know more. I’m going to visit Laura.”

Roger frowned. “Alone?”

Brian nodded and his face was serious. “I’d rather go without a company,” he pointed his head towards the door. “Especially now, the bodyguards won’t let us out alone.”

“How would you going without me help with that?”

“Easily,” Brian was unphased. “Because you go to Anita and take the guards and Gwilym with you. It’s time to hear what she has to say. Tell them I’m tired and won’t leave the room. I’ll go when you’re gone.”

“You won’t force grandma to tell you anything she doesn’t want to,” Gwilym said with a hint of dismay. 

Roger grinned. “Sounds like a challenge.” His smile slightly faltered when he turned to his husband. “Are you sure you want to go alone, Bri?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Brian said carelessly and stretched his arms. "After all - her brother died right in front of us. It's only proper to offer condolences."

Clearly, both were more than ready to spring into action, and Gwilym thought he could see glimpses of much younger men, the Brian May and Roger Taylor he’d read about in his beloved books about Great Revolution.

“Alright, we do it,” he agreed but added a little shrug. “Don’t expect much, though.”

“Are you well enough to go?” Brian asked softly, eyeing Gwilym’s blue and purple bruises and the contrasting pale face. “Roger can handle it on his own, if you need some more rest. Feel free to just stay here. Have a nap, order a room service...”

The bed was soft and the offer more than tempting, but Gwilym shook his head.

“I’m going,” he said firmly. “I need to know what happened, as much as you do. You’re right, we need more facts to reach any conclusions. We need the truth.”

“And if it will be different than you hope for?” Roger asked, worried and sympathetic. “What if your friend really did kill Luke and perhaps even... more people?” He avoided saying Freddie’s and John’s names directly, but his eyes said enough. “Organisations like Double Q can brainwash even the best of people.”

Gwilym’s lips tightened. “We need the truth,” he said and looked the two old men in the eyes. “There’s no other way.”


	14. Strange Times Indeed

It was early afternoon when a taxi headed to Geneva Lane 6, home of Laura Mercury-Deacon. That part of Queen City seemed nothing like the modern, busy, polished Centre, neither it resembled the poor outskirts – this was a respectable, sleepy place with small cosy houses, front gardens, nosy neighbours and a pleasant commute. 

Brian had the driver stop at the nearest corner, just out of caution, trying not to bring any attention to the goal of his quest. In the hotel, before he set off, he’d tied his hair back and borrowed one of Roger’s hats and glasses with a stunned approval of his fashionista of a spouse. 

The taxi left. Brian looked left and right, pulling the lapels of his black coat closer and made sure the glasses covered as much of his face as possible. It seemed he didn’t need to worry, this time of day, with adults at work and children at school, the street looked empty. Number 6 was just several houses uphill.

Besides meeting her at the unveiling ceremony, from her brother Brian knew a thing or two about Laura. Some fifty years old, divorced, a proud mother of four. And most probably a proud daughter as well, considering she kept her maiden name throughout her marriage. Brian couldn’t but notice she inherited a lot from John, the inconspicuous, calm demeanour and general dislike of public events. Brian just hoped Deaky’s stubbornness passed on the next generation with a bit softer edge.

Finally, the house.  
Brian sighed, standing in front of the small gate. Even the short walk up a mild hill left him breathless and not very pleased by it. It must’ve been the journey through space, he decided, because of course he wasn’t that old, thank you very much.

Very well. Let’s do it. Brian rang the doorbell.

*****

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive,” Roger grumbled when Gwilym finally managed to park in the wide driveway of Anita’s villa. Granted, the paint on the car’s back door was maybe scratched, but the stone post of the fence suffered nearly no damage. It was perhaps a bit tilted. Just a little. 

Gwilym would love to say that his driving abilities suffered after his injuries, but the truth was, he was nervous.

“Well, we’re here, we’re alive, that’s what’s important,” he said, carefully avoiding Roger’s glare. 

“Stay here, all of you,” Roger turned to the four bodyguards who’d followed them, “I don’t think the Prime Minister will cause us some serious harm.”

The men only nodded and more than gladly got back in the car, facing the front door. Roger had expected to need more than a simple request, but after all, he was a mere Queenie and they weren’t paid to watch over Gwilym. While Brian stayed safe in the hotel, or so they thought, in case of an incident, apparently, no one of value would be lost.

“Those aren’t grandma’s cars,” Gwilym pointed to two very lavish and expensive looking automobiles, one blue and one bright red. “Someone came before us.”

Roger only shrugged and followed the younger man to the house which Gwilym opened with his own keys. He couldn’t but feel a bit cold, in the grey and white hallway with dark furniture. 

“Young Mr. Lee!” A butler suddenly appeared out of nowhere and politely prevented them from going further.

Gwilym smiled. “Hello, Jenkins. I just need a quick word with my grandmother. Me and Roger Taylor, that is.”

“I’m afraid madam has visitors,” the butler stated the obvious. “It seems the unfortunate events of yesterday had upset lot of people.”

“The murder, you wanted to say,” Roger said, and his bright blue eyes pierced the butler quite coldly. “More than unfortunate, I dare say.”

Jenkins only cleared his throat and stood straighter. “She’s unavailable,” he said simply with a hint of finality. “And not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

“We’ll wait.”

It seemed only Gwilym’s presence stopped the butler from sending them politely on their way. Instead, he chaperoned the two into the “small salon” to wait, made an obligatory offer of tea which was accepted, so the butler disappeared once again to take care of it.

Roger sighed and his knees cracked when he sank into a deep, comfortable sofa.

“Sorry for that,” Gwilym mumbled. “He just takes the job really seriously. And grandma and her whole party as well.” He winked, trying to lighten up the mood. “I heard he even wears pyjamas in our colours.”

“It must be a relief to have a supporter in the house,” Roger commented, glancing over the long lines of books on the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Gwilym shrugged. “I suppose. Especially lately. But I think you’ve got quite a clear idea and-”

“Is that what I think it is?” Roger said suddenly and got up to get one of the books, quite a thick volume in a sky-like binding. “I had no idea it’s being sold on Queen as well.”

QUEEN IN 3D by BRIAN MAY the cover said.

“Of course, it is,” Gwilym quickly walked over to his guest. “It’s like a Bible in here, it’s everywhere. Children are reading it at school, but you might- eh...” His voice slowly died out. 

Roger leafed through the pages... and then went back, turning them slower and reading a bit here and there. His brows furrowed and Gwilym made an instinctive step back.

“What is this?” Roger asked quietly, staring at the book without any particular expression. Not yet.

“Ehm... Queen in 3D,” Gwilym mumbled, “...fifth edition.”

“Fifth?” Roger looked at him and waved with the book. “Second is the latest, we... Brian... we haven’t done any newer versions! And this... what even is this? People read this? Who did this?”

“This one came out about ten years ago,” Gwilym decided to start lightly, “and I think... it must’ve been ordered by the Earth’s ambassador. You met him at the unveiling ceremony, general Singer. He oversees all the Earth’s businesses on Queen and is also the head of Queen’s armed forces. You know, historically, all the soldiers came from Earth so the arrangement-”

“Alright!” Roger snapped and so ended Gwil’s intended history lesson. “But why- why...” The words weren’t coming to him, so he simply opened the book and started reading out loud.

__

_... and it took merely two weeks before Brian May decided that the fears of his Queenies were unjustified. Something big needed to be done, to push the Institute on their knees. All those people couldn’t do it without him. They needed him and he felt responsible. They chose him as the one._

Roger leafed through several pages and cleared his throat. Gwilym squirmed in discomfort.

_...”Oh, Brian,” Roger said quietly, “if you say it’s the right thing to do, then it is. You always have our people’s best interests in mind, and I know we can trust you. We will follow you anywhere and once you free us from our chains, then... I’ll be yours. What is your plan?”_  
_Brian shook his head. “I’ll tell you in due time, Roggie, it’s not important for you to know. Come to bed.”_  
_“You always know the best,” Roger smiled, already on his way to the bedroom. He couldn’t wait to embrace his hero._

“Now no wonder they wanted to kill me,” Roger mumbled. “I mean, I would shoot this guy.” He leafed through several more pages in clear disgust. “There even... Is there even a mention of Freddie and John? They aren’t...”

“I think...,” Gwilym leaned over Roger’s shoulder and turned several more pages. “I think there was something here. Over here, look.”

_The success of the concert was massive, phenomenal, and Brian turned to his faithful Roggie with a triumphant smile while the tunes of his guitar rang through the air, accompanied by Roger’s drums and the vocals and bass of their friends._

“That’s all, I think,” Gwilym said and quickly stepped back when he saw Roger’s glare. “But if that’s any consolation, you’re in it!”

“Yeah, I can fucking see that,” Roger said and put the book back on the shelf with a loud thud. Thirty years ago, he’d be throwing chairs at this point, but now, honestly... why bother. No point. He wasn’t even sure what was he feeling – some anger, betrayal perhaps, and a whole range of emotions around that, including an urge to find Brian and firstly bang that book hard against his head and then, secondly, make sure he never learns what was in it. Because of one thing Roger was certain, Brian’s reaction to that masterpiece would be way more complicated than his. And he couldn’t have that. Not now, at least.

Roger stood still, for a while, then silently returned on the sofa. From Anita’s study next door, they could hear muffled voices. Otherwise... nothing. 

Why didn’t they do anything, when this parody of a book came out? Anita or... Freddie or Deaky, they must’ve seen it, why, why...?

Gwilym awkwardly cleared his throat and sat down as well.

“You know,” he said, looking intently at the old man’s face, “yesterday evening, with all the madness going on, Double Q made a large fire in the May’s Park. They burned these books. At least three hundred of them.”

“I doubt it happened for the right reason,” Roger mumbled, watching his hands. “If that’s how they see me or Brian... no wonder things turned out the way they did. It makes a lot of sense.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I actually know how it happened,” Gwilym said quietly. “Grandma told me and... I think it’s great what you did. I mean – your husband, he’s a hero, for sure. But he landed here, back then. And had to do something and fight to stay alive. You lived here already, you had a job and life – but you decided to put in stake everything you had for a better future. You had a choice to do nothing and just live your life and yet... That’s... that’s the kind of courage I want to have. It’s rare though.”

Roger looked up, just enough to see the younger man’s face. There was something he quite couldn’t get, like a memory too hazy to remember.

“You don’t need to be the way others before you already were,” he said. “You find your own way.”

“I actually made a school project about you,” Gwilym chuckled, suddenly a bit embarrassed. “I was twelve. We could pick anyone from the times of the Great Revolution, but I thought writing about Brian would be too mainstream. So, I snuck out to the... ehm... less desirable part of City to have a look at your old house. It’s still standing, you know?”

Roger frowned at the notion that his old house was supposed to fall apart already, but he knew Gwilym meant well. Huh, young people. He nodded in encouragement and Gwilym continued.

“Anyway... I went in, took some pictures, tried to imagine all that – the cellar you planned the Revolution from, it was somewhere there?”

“That used to be under Freddie’s place,” Roger said. “But I doubt that book got it right.”

“And in the house,” Gwilym continued and hesitated for a short second, “- I met Ben. That day. He used to live with his mother in the red-light district, so he preferred to just walk around the neighbourhood while she was working. We just... bumped into each other.” 

“I see,” Roger nodded, trying to decipher the younger man’s face.

Gwilym chuckled again, but this time quite nervously. “I remember I came home terribly late back then, we talked for hours, Ben and me. He was different from all my schoolmates, everyone I knew. The street life shows, you know. His mother wasn’t exactly a doting type and besides... there were other matters. He became my friend, my only friend and later... more. Back then I somehow took it for granted we’d be together forever.”

Roger still wasn’t sure what to say, when Gwilym suddenly got up and started walking around the room like a tiger in a small cage.

“I wish it could’ve been like you!” he exclaimed, looking back at the older man and his eyes seemed watery. “You have no idea...”

Roger raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“To see you... and Brian together,” Gwilym stammered. “You love him still, after all those years, and he loves you back... You just fell in love and then kept going through everything – and it couldn’t be always easy!”

“It wasn’t,” Roger admitted and patted on the sofa next to him. “And neither was the marriage, to be honest. It needed work and several times it really looked like we wouldn’t make it. He used to drive me crazy. He drove me to alcohol... drugs... lovers and hookers... And in exchange, I drove him to asylum. Not the easiest of times. But when things get bad, you need to look at the damage and ask yourself – is that man worth all the effort this would take to fix? And he was. He always was.”

“I’m glad-“ Gwilym started, but Roger suddenly pressed a finger to his own lips, urging him silent. “What?”

The voices from the study sounded once again a bit louder and agitated. Quickly, Roger stood up and carefully picked a place where he pressed his ear against the wall. Gwilym couldn’t but roll his eyes but joined him anyway.

“This is so wrong,” he mumbled, but Roger shushed him.

“... murder at that,” Anita just said, clearly trying to hold her anger on a leash.

“It doesn’t have to be a political issue, if you just leave the police deal with it.”

“It’s May and Taylor, of course it’s political issue.”

“Especially as it’s a group of violent terrorists that did it.”

“We don’t know that, Warrick.”

“Come now, Anita, play fair. We all know who and why did it. And the public knows as well. I really wouldn’t want to be in your shoes – or in the shoes of anyone of your party.”

“Unlike you, I care about the people of this planet.”

“Oh, I care about them as well – about those, who just want to live like respectable citizens.”

“You mean to say-”

“Stop it, both of you,” new voice stepped in. “Or save it for the debates.”

Roger had to search in his memory, he’d heard that voice before... And suddenly he realized that was general Singer, the Earth’s ambassador and head of Queen’s armed forces. What was he doing here?

“If there will be any,” Anita said coldly. “Despite the turmoil around May and Taylor, the situation is hardly severe enough to justify early elections.”

“I disagree,” Warrick sounded rather smug. “Terrorists plunder the city right under your nose and you do nothing, citizens are being murdered... and you do nothing. And it’s not just last night I’m talking about. Those radical Queenies re dangerous, everybody knows it, and if you can’t end their rampage once and for all, people will choose someone who can. My party had decided to call for a referendum about the early elections. And if people agree with us – then I’ll meet you at the debates as my rightful opponent.”

“If there will be any,” Anita repeated.

“We’ll see, madam Prime Minister, we’ll see. But now we need to go, it’s been a pleasure. And by the way - take better care of your little grandson, I’ve heard he’s in a habit of wandering around peculiar places.”

“What? What the hell do you mean-“

“Have a great day!”

Roger and Gwilym looked at each other just when the main door clicked behind the guests. Then Roger simply walked out of the room right in front of Anita with Gwilym in a tow.

The Prime Minister raised her eyebrow.

“I think we need to talk,” Roger stated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big revelations can be expected in the next chapter!


	15. Dreams of Youth

“To be honest...,” Anita gestured Roger and Gwilym into her office and closed the door, “I didn’t expect to see you.” She gave her grandson a stern glare. "Neither of you." 

Gwilym swallowed, ignoring the pain in his still contused throat. 

“We had to cancel your original program for today,” Anita continued, “but you already know that. I'm truly sorry, but I hope you understand-“

Roger cut her short, too riled up for politeness. “You know I’m not here for some cancelled tour,” he sat down on the edge of her desk. “I want to hear everything. Now.”

“Could you specify?” Anita asked coldly. “And quit the drama, be so good. What do you want? I’m busy and it’s Gwilym who’s supposed,” she put an emphasis on that word, “to take care of you.”

“It can’t go on like this, grandma,” Gwilym said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “You can’t as well. Things are happening, people are dying. We need to know how and who’s responsible.”

“Luke’s death,” Anita sat down behind her desk, “was a tragic-“

“Fuck, Anita!” Roger exclaimed and his eyebrows furrowed as he slammed his fist against the table. “Do you take us for idiots?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Taylor!” Anita got up so sharply her chair rocked. “I know you’re angry, I know you’re upset, we all are. But I’m the Prime Minister and you’re nothing but a guest on Queen, for the first time in five decades! So when I tell you to stay put and safe until we solve this situation – you do that! There is nothing for you to do about Queen, Luke’s death or Double Q, same for Brian, wherever he is. You stay out of this.”

Roger’s face reddened in anger. “Because you’re doing such an excellent job,” he said caustically. “Is that why Warrick calls for early elections?”

“That’s none of your business, just like anything else. Why can’t you just be happy to be here, revel in old memories and-”

“Oh, we would love that,” Roger snapped. “But unlike some we find it hard to do nothing when someone stumbles through our door - looking like this!” He grabbed Gwilym’s collar and yanked the shirt open.  
Gwilym yelped when his first four buttons flew across the desk, revealing dark bruises on his throat and upper body.

Anita froze. Gwilym quickly tried to cover himself, but Roger held firmly.

“Now, as it finally concerns you,” Roger gritted through his clenched teeth, “maybe we could just get on with this. He’s been beaten. Hard. Kidnapped and beaten. What is the great Prime Minister gonna do?”

“How did this happen, Gwilly?” Anita whispered, her face pale, and reached over to touch Gwilym’s bruises, as if to make sure they’re truly real. 

“Play fair,” said Roger instead. “As all the big boys say -,” he smirked, “- you show us yours we show you ours.”

For a moment, the two stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Anita cleared her throat and then looked at her grandson with an unreadable expression. He squirmed. 

“Gwilym, what if you go upstairs and take some clean shirt,” she said after another minute of tense silence. “And ask Jenkins to get you the medical kit.”

“There’s not need, I- ehhh,” Gwilym caught Roger’s stare, “... on the other hand, so... it may be a good idea.” He turned on his heel and left Anita and Roger alone.

“What happened?” Anita asked immediately.

Roger raised an eyebrow. “Why won’t you ask him? He’s not a child, you know. And not stupid either.”

“Whatever you two morons think you’re doing, keep Gwilym out of it.”

“Too late.”

“Roger...,” Anita sighed and sat down back in her chair, “please, I beg you...”

Roger watched her. She seemed smaller and more fragile than he remembered, as if the years of Queen’s politics took a great toll. He poured her a glass of water from a large carafe on the table and sat down in the chair on the opposite side.

“I know a thing or two about protecting people we love,” he said quietly, “but as you can see... there’s only that much you can do. He wants to help this planet, he loves it, just as we used to, all those years ago.”

“Can’t you just leave? Leave Queen,” Anita said, avoiding his eyes. “Leave and take him with you.”

“What happened with Mercury-Deacons?” Roger pressed, ignoring her plea. “What happened since we left the last time? We missed fifty years, Brian and I, and a couple of organized tourist trips won’t cut that. You can tell me, or you don’t have to, but we won’t give up until we know. We will turn every stone on Queen upside down until we find them.”

“You won’t find them,” Anita said blankly. “You only get more people hurt.”

Roger leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes not leaving her face. “People do get hurt now,” he said. “People are dead. And if you want us to not get involved, I want to know why. Otherwise – we’ll find out by ourselves. By any means necessary. Gwilym included.”

Anita stayed silent for a while, before she nodded. “If I tell you... about everything... do you swear you do all in your power to keep Gwilym out of this?”

“He’s an adult man, Anita-”

“Swear to me, Roger.”

“Very well,” Roger shrugged. “I swear. But first we need to know what to keep him away from.”

“I should’ve known better,” Anita muttered and stood up, “than to put him together with the two of you. Cen was right to keep him from Brian.”

“What does Brian have to do with Gwilym?” Roger watched her how she walked over the room, opened one of the drawers to take out a half empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “And don’t bother with that, please, I’m driving.”

Anita nodded, poured at least a double shot into her own glass and emptied it in one swig. The practice was evident.

“Brian... has everything to do with Gwilym,” she said and sat down back to her table. “Back then when the Revolution started... and you and Brian left for Earth... it took two more years until we managed to strip all the power from the Institute and form our own government with Jim Beach as Prime Minister. RISUGI was still running its reproduction programme as the Institute for Family Planning, but we started to place the children from Childhood Centres to real families. Freddie had a great speech about love and thanked all the couples who decided to take the step and adopt.”

Roger smiled. “I wish I could’ve been there. Was that when Freddie and Deaky adopted theirs?”

“Yes, it was,” Anita nodded and then hesitated. “Roger... do you remember Gordon Atkins, that doctor?”

“The one Prenter got killed?” Roger recalled with a sigh. “Yeah, I remember. What about him?”

“Atkins found out the Institute used Deaky to create new children,” Anita explained. “Freddie decided to take over the search – and succeeded. The day people started taking their children home, Freddie and Deaky did the same. They took their children and together with Freddie’s sister they moved out of Queen City.”

“Kash,” Roger nodded, and his heart clenched when he remembered his own younger sister Clare, who had died as a part of Paul Prenter’s revenge. She’d be an old woman by now, he realized.

“The thing is,” Anita continued, unaware of Roger’s thought process, “Freddie also found that Deaky wasn’t the only one used by Institute in that way.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said-“

“I know what you said, I heard you,” Roger straightened up in his chair, “but... Are you telling me Brian... Gwilym... they...?”

Anita nodded. “Freddie and Deaky had six children already, more than enough. They wouldn’t handle more, so I took Cen. She’s Brian’s. Gwilym is his grandson.”

Roger’s breath hitched. “Does Gwilym know?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.

“He doesn’t.”

“Why?”

“Is it really that important?” Anita asked sharply. “They made her with Brian’s genes, but she’s my daughter, my family, not Brian’s. None of the other adopted children really know who their biological parents are, I don’t see a reason why there should be an exception. And considering what’s happening now – Gwilym gets himself into enough trouble as he is, do you realize how it could go if he finds out he’s Brian May’s grandson? Oh, wouldn’t people just love that, and what about Double Q? I want him to have a normal life, Roger, normal and safe, is it too much to ask?”

“And what about Brian?” Roger asked bitterly, glaring at the woman in front of him. “Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

Anita stayed silent for a moment. “I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s not blood that makes a family, and you and Brian went to Earth a long time ago. It’s all in the past. You left us.”

“We’re back now,” Roger looked at her intently. “Tell me more about what happened. Tell me about Freddie and Deaky. Tell me everything.”

***

“Do you want milk or sugar in your tea, Uncle Brian?”

“Neither, thank you.” 

Brian smiled and watched how Laura prepared their beverages. She seemed to accept his visit, however begrudgingly she’d let him in just few moments earlier.

Together, they sat down in her living room, and Brian breathed in the calm domesticity of embroidered cushions, frilly curtains and furniture of light wood. On the wall, there were several paintings in fantastical colours with a large, artistic signature F.M.

“Are those Freddie’s?” he realized and got up to take a closer look. “They’re... unique.”

Laura smiled. “Yes, Papa made a lot of them over the years. And as we started getting our own homes, he insisted we took at least one each. It’s a part of my soul, darlings, that’s what he said.”

Brian took one more look at the canvases before turning back to his hostess. She seemed calm and collected, but her dark dress and puffy eyes gave away the fact she’d just lost a brother. Giving condolences was the first thing Brian did when he walked in and she accepted them with a stoic dignity. But he had known her father well enough to know that under the calm demeanour, there were wheels turning. 

She knows this isn't why I’m here, Brian was certain of that. Laura’s grey eyes followed him back on the sofa, waiting for his advance.

“I wish we could’ve kept contact with your fathers over the years,” he sat down with a sigh. “John used to be like a brother to me, and I still think of him that way.”

“It was a mutual feeling, as far as I know,” Laura sipped her tea. “The way they talked about you. Great adventures of Uncles Bri and Rog were our usual bedtime story.”

Brian chuckled. “I’m sure whatever they said, they exaggerated.” 

“Without a doubt,” Laura agreed. “When I was little, I thought Earth was just another village just like ours. And when Dad started building the transmitter, I imagined he’d finish it, call you and you just get a car and arrive to see us.”

“Believe me,” Brian assured her, “we’d love to do just that. But I haven’t been even allowed to space travel for many years. I still wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the invitation of the Earth’s ambassador. He must’ve pulled many strings – or I simply grew too old and irrelevant for NASA to care.”

“The former, I suppose,” Laura said and several wrinkles on her forehead deepened. “All the money governments of Earth get from Queen go through Singer. He’s got many strings to pull – and never does it without a reason.”

The warning in her voice was more than clear, but before Brian had a chance to react, she got up.

“Do you want to see some photos?” Without even waiting for an answer, she walked over to one of the chests of drawers and started searching. “I think I’ve got even the old ones from Fort Femay...”

“From where?”

Laura turned around. “Fort Femay. It’s a small town close to the equator, my fathers moved there right after we got adopted in 2647.” She smiled. “It must’ve been crazy, I imagine, living in the middle of nowhere just dad, papa, the six of us and aunt Kash. We lived there for about two years, but then dad finished his plans and calculations for his transmitter and wanted to oversee the construction personally, so we moved to Stalbank.” 

That town Brian remembered; the train they’d taken to visit the Deaky Transmitter stood there. Is it possible... Were they there? Freddie and Deaky, the whole time?

“He did an incredible job,” Brian said fondly, “maybe even the greatest piece of cosmic engineering of all time, considering what he had to work with.”

“Yes...” Laura took a box of photos and carried it back to Brian. Pictures of children, mostly, but he could see some of Freddie, Deaky or Kash here and there, around something what looked like a very simple house at the very edge of a desert. The tall tower of Deaky Transmitter often shined in the background. “This is a photo from a party Prime Minister Beach organized to celebrate the first successful call.” She chuckled. “Papa always talked about how disappointingly dull it was and unworthy of showing his poor darling’s hard work.”

Brian looked at the picture in question. It was a very formal group of apparently everybody who collaborated on the transmitter. Freddie was the easiest to find, dressed in immaculate flashy suit surrounded by a horde of seven-year-olds. Right next to them, Brian vaguely recognized Kash, Freddie’s sister, and then Anita, holding a hand of a curly-haired girl. 

“And dad’s over here,” Laura pointed in a large group of workers and engineers, and really, now he could see John Deacon, hiding in the crowd.

Brian sighed. “He never changed, did he?”

Laura shook her head with a chuckle. “Never. Anyway... he made the call. First Earthers arrived two years after that. Scientists and soldiers... but others as well and more. Prime Minister Beach did his best to welcome them. Those were happy years. First time I ate something else than alga. They brought seeds and animals and all the machines to improve Queen's environment, they built an actual spaceport, set up a space station... We were all just drooling over it. As was everybody else. Papa wanted to move back to the capital, but Dad wouldn’t even hear about it. He said having six teenagers in one house would be stressful enough. That was when his hair slowly started to turn grey so... he was probably right.”

There she made a small pause and Brian didn’t push, only watched her suddenly darkened face.

“Uncle Bri?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever wish you could reverse time?” she whispered.

“There were moments when I wished that more than anything,” Brian said honestly, and his wrinkles deepened with worry as he watched her face. “What happened, Laura?”

“For a long time... nothing,” she said after a moment of silence. “Others would tell you better, someone involved in politics or who at least lived in the Queen City, because Dad trained new operators for his transmitter and we all moved back to Fort Femay. There were some terrible arguments about it between him and Papa, he wanted to return to singing and accused Dad of burying our lives away by making us live like a pack of hermits. But they settled quite quickly. Through the years more Earthers arrived, starting their families. Some wanted to get in government and Jim Beach let them in. They set up special hospitals for Earthers to treat their own imported diseases, their own schools... But the government still needed more newcomers to balance the population – so they could close what remained of the Institute for good. Prime Minister made an agreement with Earth’s Ambassador and created some well-paid working opportunities for Earthers only, cheap living, better pay... and they came.”

“Oh god...,” Brian whispered.

Laura nodded. “We didn’t really know how it happened over the years, we lived at the end of the world. But then we grew up. Here...” She picked another photo from the box. “This is just before Robert, Luke and Joshua moved to Queen City. Michael followed them after few months. I chose to study in New Lynn, so I went the opposite direction, and Cameron stayed at home with Dad and Papa.” She sighed. ”I can’t imagine how they felt getting our calls because we got to feel on our own skin how things changed. Something wasn’t right. There were these people who came out of nowhere telling us where to live, what to eat, listing all the places we couldn’t visit and things we couldn’t do. They called us Queenies – and suddenly, that was a bad thing.”

Brian swallowed. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and his throat narrowed. “It should’ve never gone like this.”

“It really shouldn’t,” Laura agreed. “But that’s what happened. Dad begged us to come home, but we refused, and Robert and Michael got involved in politics. At the time, Earthers not only filled our political party, but created their own, fighting to put their own candidate in the lead instead of Jim Beach. They promoted more rights for Earthers, and a bigger distinction between them and the “people from test tubes”. It was getting out of hand. Queenies marched in the streets and raided the city, it took an army to make peace. That was some... nasty business. My brothers started campaigning against the opposition and tried to convince Papa to return to Queen City and make a show for their cause. And then... one day... they found Prime Minister Beach dead in his office, few days before first debates.”

“We were told... it was a heart failure,” Brian looked in her eyes. “Was it?”

Laura avoided a direct answer. “I have no real reason to doubt it. He wasn’t youngest anymore and the pressure must’ve been enormous. No one was surprised.”

“So?” Brian shifted on the sofa in an upsetting combination of dread and excitement. “What happened then?”

“Anita Dobson took Beach’s place as her party’s nominee,” Laura said quietly and folded her arms on her chest. “And Dad called us home. I’ve never seen him so upset and... scared. He was terrified. He actually screamed at Robert and Michael to leave Queen City and stay home, he wanted all of us to do the same... You can imagine what answers he got. There were some really ugly words involved. Joshua called him an Earther and a coward.” 

Brian pressed his lips and not knowing what to do, he sipped on his tea. It was already cold.

“And that’s about everything,” Laura said suddenly and got up, packing the photos. “You’re all caught up.”

“What?” Brian’s tea went the wrong way and he coughed in surprise. “No, I... what happened?”

“Anita Dobson is the Prime Minister.”

“Laura!” Brian quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist, looking in her eyes. There was fear. “You know that’s not all. You’re hiding something, both you and your brother. What really happened with Miami? What happened with your brothers, with Freddie, with Deaky?”

“That’s what Luke wanted to tell you, Uncle Bri,” Laura said sternly. “Now he's dead.”

“And you know who killed him?”

She shook her head and tears glistened in her eyes. “Please, let me go. Go away. I told you about our family. My parents are retired and do not want to see you, my brothers the same. I beg you, take Uncle Roger and get out of here.”

“Is it because of Double Q?” Brian urged and got up. “Who are they? Do they threaten you? Did they kill Luke because of Freddie and Deaky? Because he wanted to tell us where they really are? Did Double Q kidnap your parents?”

“My parents are dead!”


	16. The Harder We Play, The Faster We Fall

“Dead?” Roger asked sharply. It was the first time he interrupted Anita telling the story but... dead? No, they couldn’t be... How could they...

“I’m afraid so,” Anita slowly leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed. As if she just drifted away to any other place, at least in her mind. “They’re dead,” she repeated.

Roger was shaken, unsure what to do or say. He only felt a heavy wave in his chest crushing all his organs one by one and pressing deep into his throat. He couldn’t speak, he could barely breathe. That must've been a mistake...

“How?” Gwilym asked quietly behind Roger’s back. He’d come in a clean shirt around the time Anita had been talking about the landing of first Earthers and listened intently since. Roger felt grateful for the comforting and inobtrusive presence. “How did they die?” he asked again when Anita only licked her dry lips, hesitant to answer. “Please, grandma.”

“It was... an accident,” she said.

Roger frowned. That wasn’t what he expected and frankly it didn’t fit with all what he’d heard before.

Anita sighed and decided to explain. “After Miami died... I became our party’s nominee. And we won the elections but I needed to abandon some of our more radical policies and be more open towards the demands of Earthers. I made lots of compromises and some people found that unacceptable.”

“Some people... you mean Freddie and Deaky?” Roger checked.

“Freddie yes,” Anita said, “but he didn’t blame me. And about John I don’t know, it was never easy to guess what he was thinking. But it’s not as much them I was talking about as their sons, the young Mercury-Deacons. Robert, Michael, Joshua,” she chuckled, “full of a righteous spirit and optimism – they accused me of selling this whole planet and humiliating everyone who lived here.”

Roger raised an eyebrow and shifted himself on the chair. “They said that?”

“That and some other things, yes,” she nodded. “Luke and Cameron were never really into politics and Laura lived too far away, but those three decided to form another political party, one that would strictly stand behind the rights of Queenies. No compromise. John hated it.”

“I imagine,” Roger mumbled. Not that he blamed those kids for taking the chance, hell, with his past how could he, but he guessed where the story was going and god, didn’t he hate that direction.

“The party wasn’t really big,” Anita continued, “and not many people supported it. Rarely any Earthers, naturally, but even the radical Queenies called them hypocrites. It was John who built the Transmitter and invited Earthers in the first place after all. So, when elections came, Robert and his brothers knew they had to give it everything to have even a small chance. They went home to convince their fathers to come out of retirement and support them publicly. Lost heroes of the Great Revolution, standing side by side with their sons – what could be better? Voters would have gone crazy about an endorsement like that!”

Roger straightened himself and immediately picked up on the most important word. He asked, even though he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Would have gone crazy? Would? Not did?”

“Would,” Anita sighed and turned herself on her chair to face the room more than the blue eyes of her guest. The wrinkles on her face seemed deeper. “I got a call from Kash that evening. There had been a huge argument. When Robert laid out the idea, Freddie agreed. John did not. In fact, he forbade anyone to go anywhere, even to set foot outside the house. He lost his temper, he screamed, Freddie screamed back... She said John even punched a window and walked away to spend a night in his workroom.”

Roger swallowed. He was no stranger to arguments or questionable anger management, but image of the sweet calm Deaky he remembered screaming and breaking glass – screaming at Freddie out of all people...

“And... that was the last time I heard from them.”

“What? T-That night?” Roger stuttered. "It happened that night?"

“The day after that,” Anita said and re-filled her whiskey glass, avoiding Roger’s eyes. “Freddie, Robert, Michael and Joshua caught an early morning train to Queen City. John, Kash and Cameron stayed at home.”

“They took a train?” Roger frowned. “Why not car?”

“They lived in Fort Femay, that’s across the desert,” Anita said. “To get here by train is way faster and more comfortable than any car.” She paused and her face darkened. “That afternoon I got a call that the train de-railed and caught fire. Everything burned to ashes, all of it. No survivors.” 

Roger swallowed. “So Freddie... Freddie died... Freddie burned to death in a train? And Robert, Michael, Joshua? All of them?”

“Yes...,” Anita said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry...,” Roger shook his head and looked down. “John must’ve been... when he heard...” Only for a moment he imagined learning about something like that happening to Brian and his throat tightened. Now he regretted they didn’t come together. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Anita said after a long pause, “John didn’t get to know. Around the same time as the train accident there was... some malfunction I suppose, in their house. It caught fire and burned to the ground. No one managed to get out in time, so...”

“They burned,” Roger finished the sentence for her and pressed his teeth together. “Of course. And you’re telling me this was an accident too?” 

Anita shrugged. “Maybe electricity...?”

Roger stood up. “Electricity?” he exclaimed. “That’s Deaky’s house we’re talking about, no way he would’ve let that happen!”

“Or something else-“

“Shut up!” Roger’s eyes were wet. He just couldn’t take it anymore and started pacing around the room. “You and your accidents! A train burning to the ground conveniently at the same time a house burned to the ground! And just let me tell you – trains do not burn when they de-rail, and even if they did, to burn them “to the ground” you’d need tanks full of jet fuel at least! And don’t you dare play dumb, you know this, anyone with half-a-brain cell would!”

“What do you want me to say, Roger?” Anita also got up.

“They were no accidents and I want you to admit it!” Roger fumed. “They were murdered!”

“We found no proof of that!” Anita spat back. 

“Oh, that’s great, did you search for any?” Roger was shaking and his eyes were filled with sudden tears. “You didn’t, did you? Why? And why did you set up the whole charade for Brian and me – retired! Or is that how you call dead people? Did Miami retire as well? Luke certainly retired, right in front of us!”

Anita stood silent, only watching him.

“Fucking say something, Anita!”

“It’s not only you we kept it from!” she finally snapped. “We kept it from everybody! There were elections going on and we were the leading party – do you imagine what people would think?”

“You hushed this up to win the elections?” Roger said incredulously. “I can’t fucking believe you! You covered up a murder – a multiple murder! A murder of our friends!”

“It wouldn’t bring them back anyway!” Anita spread her arms in a resigned gesture. “There is no way of knowing what happened why because I chose to not know, and let me tell you, I’m getting so fucking tired of you accusing me! With Miami gone, with Mercury-Deacons gone, I’m the only one in politics who gives a shit about Queenies! But I can do that only as long as I stay where I am. It’s not my dream job, believe me, Taylor, but it must be done. This is politics. It’s filthy and it’s terrible and sometimes it forces your hand to do things you’d never think yourself ever doing! It broke my heart, Roger,” she added and returned behind her desk. She wasn’t looking at Roger, but rather at the line of pens neatly organised next to a stock of post-it notes. “All that...”

“You say you’d do anything for Queen,” Roger said slowly and sat down as well. “But I think you know damn well how it looks outside. You went with all the ridiculous shit they asked for themselves, maybe if you learned how to say no, Freddie, Deaky and their whole family could’ve been alive! Or Luke at least! You must’ve seen this coming!”

Anita leaned back and looked towards the ceiling. 

“Of course, we did,” she mumbled. “We saw it coming a long time ago. But... there was nothing we could do to stop it.”

“Nothing you could do, is that really your excuse?”

“Listen to me!” Anita’s glare pierced through him. “From the very beginning the Earthers control everything. Everything! When they arrived, this planet was still in ruins after the Revolution – and resources from Earth were the only thing that could save us. Miami welcomed them and met with them. They said they’d gladly provide us with anything we need but they also need funds to do such thing – to arrange more flights, to bring here more people, more cargo... They asked for the rights to all the rhenium on Queen. We never needed it to anything, so Miami signed the contract. And... they fulfilled their promise, in exchange for rhenium they brought everything we needed. What we didn’t realize was that there was nothing else we had they’d be interested in. They had a monopoly on rhenium, a monopoly on space travels and an army with Earth’s ambassador as the head general. They ensured we rely on them – and we will rely on them forever. Miami realized just how fucked we are – too late. It was too late already. There were Earthers and Queenies and an angry crowd marching across the City. And the opposition. And elections.” She sighed and kneaded her forehead. “Miami blamed himself for all that. He thought he failed Queen. You see... I’m just a captain of a ship that’s slowly sinking and the only thing I have is a bucket. Everybody hates us, Earthers and Queenies alike. Which side stood behind the accidents? Does it even matter? They’re dead all the same. But I’m alive and there is one simple reason for that – I know my place and I pick my battles. And you should do the same.”

“Pick my battles?” Roger asked, frowning.

“Yes. Pick your battles – and let me tell you, this isn’t one of them. Take Brian and go back to Earth. Forget everything about Queen, about Freddie and Deaky. You can’t help anyone – only make the situation worse and I will not allow another civil war on Queen. It would destroy us.” 

Roger glared at her. “This is my home you’re talking about,” he said. “And my friends. I won’t pretend they died because of a mishap.”

“They were my friends too,” Anita replied quietly. “And I did everything in my power to keep them safe as long as I could, John understood this. Earthers hating Queenies, Queenies hating Earthers and all people we love dearly stuck in the middle. Robert, Michael, Joshua... they didn’t listen to me. Luke didn’t listen to me. You’re not listening to me! And unless you do as I ask... I can’t guarantee your safety.” Her eyes left Roger’s face and moved to Gwilym, who silently listened to the whole conversation from his corner. 

“Keep your guarantees,” Roger snapped and stood up. “I’m leaving, now, but not Queen. I will find out the truth, all the facts about everything, and I’ll scream them into the world.”

“There are still things you can lose,” Anita said, and the warning was clear. “Things you value more than anything else in this world. Don’t do this.”

“I value Freddie and Deaky. I value this planet – my home, Anita! I fought for it once, and I will again, no matter your opinions.”

With that, he readied himself to leave and Gwilym stood up as well. Anita didn’t say anything, only looked at the door. And she was staring at it long after the two men left until her phone rang.

The drive back to the hotel was tense and quiet and Roger didn’t even comment on Gwilym’s driving which somehow got even worse compared to before. His hands were shaking because whatever he had expected from Anita... it wasn’t that.

“Do you think you’ll need to tell Brian?” Gwilym asked quietly, waking Roger up from his thoughts.

“What?”

“About the Mercury-Deacons. Now that we know grandma instructed both Luke and Laura to cover their deaths – do you think Laura tells him?”

“I don’t know,” Roger shrugged and looked out of the window. The Queen City looked unfriendly and unfamiliar. A strange, cold world.

He remembered Freddie, the vivacious sweetheart full of love, sun, and energy. Roger never really thought about how they’d die, but to imagine Freddie – his best friend Freddie, dear Freddie – burn to death in a confined fiery hell... The thought made his nauseous. And John... Kash... and the children – burned, silenced and poisoned...  
Roger had never believed in God... but maybe he did a bit now, because how could so much pain and evil happen just randomly without some higher will pulling the strings? Yes, God maybe exists, that massive prick. Very well, he could deal with that.

But... could Brian?

Roger knew Brian through and through and knew damn well about his demons and the black dog that never really left. He spent most of his life by his side, protecting him from sinking way too deep. He lost count how many times he’d comforted Brian after yet another nightmare. He lost count how many weeks he watched his husband too exhausted to get up from bed. How many times he removed all the sharp objects from their kitchen and bathroom, how many times he pocketed the key to the medicine cabinet. Never in a million years he’d think of Brian as weak – on the contrary, every time Brian fought to get better and emerged back to the light, Roger thought he’d never seen stronger and more admirable man. But fragile... yes, possibly that. Like a porcelain vase that had been broken and glued back together way too many times.

So... what now? There’s a chance Laura didn’t tell him... would it be even possible for Roger to just keep his mouth shut? Return to Earth. Be safe. Forget everything. God, how he hoped Laura Mercury-Deacon saved him from that dilemma.

Only when the car stopped Roger realized they arrived back to the hotel. He was tired...

“I’m old,” Roger mumbled, getting a surprised look from Gwilym.

“We’re all going to be, one day,” the younger man said, trying to decipher Roger’s thought process. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Roger remembered what he’d promised Anita. Yes... perhaps it would be for the best to keep at least Gwilym as far from the mess as possible. He considered himself Brian’s protector – that included all parts of Brian, even the unlikely grandson who so unexpectedly just walked into their lives.

“I need to be alone,” Roger said quietly. “I think. I’ll just wait for Brian to get back, there will be a long talk.”

Gwilym nodded in understanding and watched Roger get out of the car. 

Gwilym pulled out back into the traffic. He was more confused than horrified by the story but even more than that... he felt betrayed. All those secrets... And learning them one by one was like getting pieces of a puzzle – except there were several puzzles mixed together, some of them poisoned and the whole box on fire.

He sighed. He needed to confide someone. He needed to trust someone, someone on his side... And such person wouldn't be found in the Centre. Gwilym turned the stirring wheel to the left and headed towards the opposite part of the City. The one he belonged to anyway.

At this time of day Cool Cat was only half full, with several people with nothing better to do nursing their beers and watching the old tv in the corner.

Gwilym frowned when he caught a piece of the news report.

“.... and breaking news from the world of politics. The head of opposition party, Charles Warrick, spoke in front of the government today, expressing his doubts about the ability of current leading party and the Prime Minister Anita Dobson to handle the danger of terrorist attacks in our streets as well as the impending crisis. Double Q can understand only the most decisive of measures, he said, and in an unprecedented step he instigated the government to organise early elections. This suggestion was approved by majority and subsequently by the Prime Minister herself. Ladies and gentlemen, we seem to be heading to the most exciting political drama of all times! Will Anita Dobson manage to keep her position against Warrick? Will anyone stop the threat of Queenie terrorism? We’ll keep you updated. And now – the weather forecast...”

“Lucy?” Gwilym walked across the pub to the bar. “Is Belisha here? I need to talk to her.”

“She won’t talk to you,” the blond bartender said. “And hello, I'm glad to see you too.”

Gwilym blushed. “I’m sorry, I just... had quite a day... Why won’t she talk to me? What did I do?”

“It’s not you,” Lucy explained. “She locked herself in a room and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. I just brought her lunch and put it in front of the door.”

“Oh fuck...,” Gwilym sighed and noticed Lucy’s eyes were actually quite red and puffy. “I’ll talk to her,” he promised. “She’ll be ok.”

“Yeah...,” Lucy mumbled and cleaned her nose with an edge of a sleeve. 

Gwilym frowned. “If there’s anything else that’s -“

“Rami disappeared!” Lucy cried out and new tears sprung from her eyes. “He’s gone!”


	17. Last thing you wanna know...

Fairly enough, Gwilym had to admit he wasn’t paying as much attention to Lucy explaining how Rami didn’t get home as he probably should have, but the only thing he could think of was to get to Belisha. The only person he trusted who was uninvolved in that whole mess. He needed to talk freely, he needed to think, he needed... Through the long years they knew each other, since he was a teen, Belisha never judged him, never treated him as not-Queenie-enough. As if that his origin didn’t matter! And later it was her who brought up the idea of smuggling food and medicine for those who couldn’t get it and filled Gwilym with purpose. 

It’s your loyalty that shows where you belong, Gwilym, not blood or origin. Your choice to do the right thing.

She must’ve been doing something great and heroic during the Revolution, he imagined, but she always laughed at the notions and avoided any conversation about her past. He and Rami often joked that she just materialized herself, grey hair, wrinkles, fluffy slippers and all, when Cool Cat was built and started her work being the local hermit they knew and loved.

“Belle!” Gwilym knocked on the door once he ran up the stairs. He’d never been to the second floor of Cool Cat before, Belisha never let anyone into her privacy, but needs must. No matter. “Belisha, it’s me, Gwilym. I need to talk to you!”

The corridor was narrow and in desperate need of a new wall paint. It seemed their owner had decided to invest everything into the bar downstairs and cared only little about her own living conditions. Only the electrical installations seemed new, or at least in a good shape.

“Belisha, I know you’re there, Lucy told me!”

“Go away, Gwilym!” sounded the muffled voice from behind the door.

“I’m sorry, but this is urgent, like really, really urgent!” Gwilym insisted and knocked on the door again. “Kind of life and death situation and I need...,” he hesitated, “I can’t... I have nobody else to talk to. Please...”

Nothing but silence. Long silence. Gwilym decided to interpret it as a lack of rejection, took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped in.

“Belisha...? Can I...?”

The old lady was sitting at the table, turned away from the door, so the only thing he could see was her grey hair in a tight bun and a knitted shawl over her shoulders. She’s been fiddling with something that seemed like a small pile of scrap.

“Ehm...,” Gwilym hesitated and stepped closer behind her back to see. “I... I don’t think that’s gonna work. If you need a new radio-“

“No, thank you,” her voice sounded hoarse, as if she was sick with heavy cold. “This one will do just fine.”

Gwilym sighed. “I can take it somewhere and have it fixed for you-“

“No,” Belisha finally turned around to face him. Her face seemed stoic as usual and covered by the mandatory layer of cheap make-up, but her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. “I fix it. It helps me think. Or take my mind off things. Make your pick.”

“I see...,” Gwilym felt a bit awkward and looked around. The room was smaller than he expected, and everything there served a purpose. A bed, a table, a chair, a wardrobe, a window, couple of strange paintings on the wall. They quite reminded him the ones his own grandmother had in her house. Was this F.M. someone famous when they were young? Gwilym filed the question for later.

“Do you want some tea?” Belisha interrupted his train of thought. 

“Are you alright?” Gwilym countered with his own question, frowning. “Lucy told me you wouldn’t speak with anyone. And no, thank you, I don’t want tea.”

“Well, I’m speaking with you now, am I not?”

“You look terrible. And I know,“ Gwilym raised his hands in defence before she could interrupt him, “I know this has a double meaning but you know exactly which meaning I meant so don’t you dare to misinterpret. I’m worried.”

“Without a doubt,” Belisha shook her head and pointed to the bed. Gwilym sat down. The old mattress squeaked. “I know you care, boy,” Belisha continued, “and I appreciate it, but let’s not pretend I’m the reason you came here. So... spit it out. Is it about your grandmother?”

Gwilym hesitated. “Partly. Did you hear about the-“

“Early elections?” Belisha nodded and turned back to her has-been radio. “I heard from the tv downstairs. Your party against the opposition, Anita’s in a tough spot. I don’t envy her the position, I doubt anyone does.”

“She will defeat Warrick,” Gwilym said firmly, “we will. And then Double Q.”

“Warrick is a sly snake,” Belisha mumbled. “But a clever one. He wouldn’t do anything as risky as calling for the early elections without being sure he could win. He’s got all the support he needs and worked years to create the situation we’re in now. Your grandmother knows this.”

Gwilym frowned. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

“I know nothing,” Belisha shook her head. “But I hear things and I can put two and two together. The Opposition has all the advantages, everything that happened with Double Q or May and Taylor works for them. Way too many coincidences.”

Gwilym leaned closer.

“Tell me about...,” Belisha’s hands shook before she put them on the table and her voice was stern. “Tell me about Luke,” she said. “Everything you know.”

“Luke Mercury-Deacon?” Gwilym sighed. “Well... he’s been in restaurant with May and Taylor. I talked to them about it. They met with him at Le Monde, that’s-“

“That’s an Earth restaurant, fancy, golden ceiling and weird food,” Belisha nodded. “Yes, go on.”

“How do you know that?” Gwilym frowned but after receiving a stern glance, he quickly continued. “So... yes, there. They are searching for his parents, Mercury and Deacon. Luke had told them they retired, but May and Taylor didn’t believe it. At Le Monde Luke was going to tell them the truth – that they’re dead. He never got to it though. The waiter brought them wine, they had a toast, Luke drank it... and died. The police says,” Gwilym added after a moment of silence, “that it was only accident and the wine was meant for May and Taylor. Double Q was trying to kill them once before, at the restaurant they tried again. They left their signature on the wall of La Monde. QQ sprayed in big letters.”

“I see...,” Belisha mumbled and touched her chin in thought. Her face was impossible to read. “Well... just as stupid as I thought.”

Gwilym blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Think!” Belisha snapped. “Who are members of Double Q? Earthers or Queenies?”

“Queenies, of course Queenies.”

“Do you really think Queenies would ever get even close to a specific bottle of wine at such an Earth-only place like Le Monde? To poison only the bottle that goes to one specific table?”

Gwilym frowned, trying to think of a theory. “They... couldn’t,” he said then. “But how...?” He thought of the group of men in black who beat him up. Did he got beaten by the same people who poisoned Luke?

“It was Earthers,” Belisha said with conviction. “Who drew QQ on the wall of the restaurant just to shift focus elsewhere.”

“But why would Earthers...,” Gwilym’s voice wavered, “why would Earthers want May and Taylor dead? They love them, they’re their heroes, at least May for sure! It makes no sense!”

Belisha stayed silent and somehow... she looked older and frailer than ever before. She was looking at her hands, and Gwilym noticed a large, old scar across one of her palms. 

“So much...,” she whispered, “so much... and for what? You should go home, boy.”

Gwilym swallowed. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said and touched the old woman’s shoulder. “Please, if you know something, tell me. And if it makes no sense, even better, because that seems to be the theme of the last days. I want to hear it, if you know why... I need to hear it.”

Belisha shook his hand away. Her grey eyes measured him from top to bottom. “Then tell me,” she asked quietly, “what is the greatest power in the world? Something people would risk for, kill for, die for? That’s the motive of all this.”

Gwilym blinked. “Love?”

“Money,” Belisha corrected him with a glare. “It’s all about money.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All this mess started with John Deacon,” Belisha intertwined her hands in her lap. “He built the Transmitter and invited Earthers to Queen. Miami – eh, Jim Beach had been the Prime Minister when they arrived. He had to make a deal.”

“Grandma told me about that one,” Gwilym said. “Prime Minister Beach signed a treaty with general Mulligan, who’d been here as Earth’s ambassador. All the rhenium of Queen for their resources.”

“Whoever’s the Earth’s ambassador has the rhenium trade – the whole industry really – in his pocket,” Belisha added. “That means money. A lot of money. Who on Queen can’t get proper jobs so they’re forced to work in rhenium mines?”

“Queenies,” Gwilym said immediately. “But how does this-“

“Who profits from the rhenium trade at the moment?” Belisha didn’t even let him finish a sentence.

“Bryan Singer, he’s the Ambassador.”

“Who can, in case his party wins, ensure even bigger segregation between Earthers and Queenies and ensure more people for the mines?”

“... Warrick.”

Belisha raised an eyebrow. “So?”

They were staring into each other’s eyes, blue and grey.

“Warrick and Singer were together at grandma’s office!” Gwilym gasped. “They talked about... murder and... terrorists... and the early election! Do you really think Singer and Warrick are in it together?”

“Do you think Earthers would be inclined to vote for Warrick if it weren’t for Double Q attacking their favourite heroes May and Taylor?”

Gwilym frowned. “Well... there had been problems before but... no, probably not. The attacks got a lot of publicity.”

“And who invited May and Taylor, hm?” Belisha leaned back in her chair. “Who ensured that after so many years they could finally come?”

“It was Singer!” Gwilym gulped. “He organized it.”

“It’s nothing but a performance for people. And the leaders of Double Q are either on Singer’s payroll or his scapegoats. They provoked the public for years and the grand finale comes just in time. I wouldn’t be too surprised if Warrick got May and Taylor’s support during the election as well, after all, your grandmother doesn’t have the power to stop the attacks.”

“No!” Gwilym protested and his hands tightened around the edge of the mattress he didn’t even realize he was holding. “They would never betray her like that, I know them, they are good people!”

“And the world is divided only between the good and the bad,” Belisha remarked with sarcasm evident, “oh, Gwilym. For their sake I hope you’re wrong. Because so far they’ve been useful, narrowly escaping from certain death from the hands of Queenies. But the moment they become more of a threat than help... there will be another attack. And this time, successful.”

“I don’t believe you,” Gwilym got up and made several steps across the room just to calm down. “I don’t! The statue-“

“The statue exploded not with them next to it but once they were pretty far away,” Belisha said flatly and shifted on the chair, “I watched it on tv. And about Le Monde – Luke invited them there. In these fancy restaurants they usually offer a sample of wine in a separate glass to the host, so he could have a taste and decide if they take it. Only then the waiter pours it in the glasses prepared on the table. I suppose the police didn’t get any samples from the bottle or glasses?”

“Ehh...,” Gwilym was thinking quickly, “... I don’t think so.”

“Of course, they didn’t. Somebody made sure the wine couldn’t be analysed. Not because of the poison there – but because there was no poison at all. All the killer had to do was to put the poison in the sample glass only for Luke to drink it. They could later blame the wine or hors d'oeuvre or whatever they all had. May and Taylor were never in real danger.”

“That makes no sense!”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense, Gwilym, aren’t you listening?” Belisha snapped. “It was a show, a sham, and Luke was poisoned, Luke died just because b-because he...” Her voice broke and a sudden sob and she quickly turned away, wiping the tears away with a sleeve.

“Yes, it’s... terrible...,” Gwilym swallowed and awkwardly touched her shoulder. He had had no idea Belisha would be so broken by a death of a stranger, but he understood what the death meant for the whole planet, Queenies especially. All his capacity was taken by processing the news. If the men in black were Warrick’s – or Singer’s – then of course they wanted to find out what Gwilym knew... or what Luke managed to tell... because the closer Brian and Roger get to Queen’s politics, the sooner they realize what Belisha already figured for herself. And once they connect the dots... they become dangerous. In a hotel paid for by Singer. Surrounded by bodyguards paid for by Singer. In a City with every second person on Singer’s payroll. On a planet with all the military commanded by Singer. All the space ports controlled by Singer. 

“Mercury-Deacons...,” Gwilym whispered.

Belisha looked up to him, her eyes wet. “What?”

Gwilym took her hands. “I think they knew about it,” he blurted out, “you said it yourself, this plan goes back years and years! The last elections happened after Prime Minister Beach died. Grandma told us that Mercury-Deacons decided to speak against the opposition – and they were murdered, all of them! What if-“

Belisha raised an eyebrow. “What if...?”

“This is the history all over again, isn’t it?” Gwilym looked like he was going to be sick. “Some things changed but... I need to talk to them, I need to warn them, right now!”

“Calm down!” Belisha snapped and stood up. Gwilym was a whole head taller than she was, but her commanding presence was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. “You do no such thing.”

“I need to tell them,” Gwilym insisted and his blue eyes were pleading, “don’t you see? Unless I do something, they either get used or killed! They need me!”

“And what exactly are you going to do? Use your brain, if you have any, Gwilym. It’s out of your hands.”

Gwilym frowned. “No, it’s not, it’s... we’ve still got time. It’s not too late!”

“You can’t hep them!” Belisha wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and glared at him. “Can’t you see? They either get killed or they don’t, we don’t know that. But be sure that the second the opposition realizes you know something, anything, the next target is on your own head – and you wouldn’t save them anyway. You’re a good boy, Gwilym, and you can do great things. Don’t throw away your life so easily.”

For a moment, there was silence when Gwilym only stared at the old woman in front of him.

“I didn’t... realize you cared so much,” he said, looking confused. “Why?”

Belisha folded her hands across her chest and avoided his stare. “You remind me of someone,” she said. “A dear friend. He too would risk everything he had, his own life, if it meant saving lives of others. I stopped him back then.”

“During the Revolution?” Gwilym asked curiously.

“Around that time, yes.”

“Did he survive?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And the people he wanted to save?”

Belisha’s face tightened. “Died. But had he done that, most probably they would’ve anyway.”

“I see...,” Gwilym nodded, quickly thinking. “I... don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid, I know this is... I know what you’re saying but... I was put in charge of taking care of them. And I will.” He looked up, firmer than before. “And whatever happens, no one can ever say I didn’t try.” After a second of hesitation, he quickly leaned forward and kissed Belisha’s cheek. “Thank you, for everything. I need to go.”

“This isn’t your fight, Gwilym,” Belisha grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t your realize? Your grandmother knows about all this, do you really think she wouldn’t have done something if there was anything that could be done? You must let things run their course, it was decided years before you were even born!”

“We wouldn’t get anywhere with this kind of thinking,” Gwilym shook her hand away. “And I just want to warn them, talk to them, we can think about it together-“

“And what about your grandmother, what would she do if something happened to you?” Belisha crossed her arms on her chest. 

Gwilym hesitated. 

“Believe me...,” she said, “I know how it feels to lose people you love. You’re the last thing she has, you need to stay back. Be there for her. She needs you.”

“I know...,” Gwilym looked up from the floor into her eyes. “But she spent her whole life trying to make Queen a better place. I don’t know what’s gonna happen but... I can’t live my life knowing I could’ve at least tried to do the same and I chose not to.”

And with a click of a door, he was gone.


	18. Young People’s Blood

The fight was over, and even though Ben already hurried through the side corridor to get dressed, screams and mockery of the crowd kept filling his ears. Losing three matches in a row, he’d never felt so humiliated. He could choke on the stale air. Everything hurt, all the new contusions and bruises, including the one on his ego. Tresher Ted had him grounded in less than five minutes, kicked him good, then took his cock out and pissed on him just to drive Ben’s loss home.

But no. No.

Ben grunted and took a swig from a bottle of vodka to take the pain’s edge. He won’t let this take him down. He couldn’t. He would fight again, and again, again should it kill him, which it probably will. No fighting no money, he needed that. His recent losses already ensured he wasn’t getting as much as he used to.

“Hardy!” 

Resigned to his fate, Ben turned around to face the fight ring’s manager, an angry, red-faced man in clothes that would probably better fit him twenty years and fifteen pounds ago.

“Mr.Henoch?” Ben braced himself for the scolding and didn’t even budge when empty paper cup hit him in the chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Henoch exclaimed and his voice resonated. “I told you to get your act together, didn’t I tell you? People bet money on you, you worthless son of a bitch!”

“Yes, I know, I’m so sorry, I-”

“I’m a patient man,” Henoch added a bit quieter, but his eyes still stung. “But I can’t and won’t keep losers. Maybe we should just cut your pay to get you more motivated, huh?”

“Oh, no, please, no, Mr.Henoch-“

The manager raised a finger and poked Ben in the chest. “Shut up. One more fiasco and I will do just that. And as for tonight... luckily for you, someone decided to cover for your dinner. So be a good boy and get your arse in the private room. Maybe first wash yourself, because you fucking stink.”

Ben’s eyes widened while his heart fell hard on the dusty floor. “The private room?“

“Come on,” Henoch scoffed, “you used to be a whore, huh? This should be like a second nature, return to the roots and all that. Listen...,” the man leaned in closer, “be a good boy for the customer and I’ll ensure you get a nice pick-me-up before the next fight, huh? I’m not unreasonable.” He took Ben’s silence for a yes and pat his shoulder with a smile. “Way to go, big guy. See you later!”

Not the first time, nor the last. Ben got to know the “private room” quite well over the years. Just as all the other fighters did, except perhaps for those very best, because Henoch wasn’t the type of man who’d just let a good business slide. The cage fighting was ruthless, brutal and illegal, attracting plenty of rich Earthers whose boring lives craved for a little bit of blood. And it was these men who, from time to time, payed handsomely to see one of the “performers” in private.

The room was small, equipped only with the furniture necessary, and the air was stale, smelling of people and old bedsheets. 

Ben walked over to the small sink, grabbed a washcloth and tried to clean himself for the client. Cold water soothed his bruises. Hopefully, whoever paid for this would be done soon, he ached for a bit of sleep. What kind of a man would it be? Not that Ben personally cared, but to be honest, it was a bit unusual to pay for a privacy with a fighter who’d just been defeated so badly. Was this what the man was after? Humiliation? Most of them wanted to bed the winner, it helped their ego to watch a man who’d beaten everybody else impaled on their cocks, letting out loud, paid-for moans. But now... or was it the pissing? Some piss kink of sorts? Certainly not Ben’s favourite, but he’d prefer it over the possibility his client would want to beat him up some more. 

Still, no one was coming. The only sounds around were muffed noises of the crowd nearby and soft squeaking of the floor.

Ben took down his shorts, tossed them aside and naked, he spread himself over the bedsheets. Two lightbulbs on the ceiling covered the whole room in an unnaturally yellow light. Waiting...

Finally, there were quick steps behind the door, and he recognized Henoch’s voice.

“... just here, sir.”

“Thank you. That’ll be all.”

Quickly, Ben tried to heave himself up into some more seductive pose when the door opened and left him frozen. Colour left his face.

“Gwilym....,” Ben gulped helplessly, unable to put on pretences.

Gwil didn’t fare much better, very apparently not prepared for the sight of his ex-boyfriend naked in the sheets.

“Ben!” His cheeks gained colour in contrast, brightly red. “I...,” quickly, he closed the door behind him. “I just...”

Finally, something in Ben clicked back and he shrugged his shoulders with a scoff. “You don’t explain yourself,” he said bitterly. “You want something, you buy it, simple. So... how would you like it, sir?”

“No!” The last question added even more colour to Gwilym’s face and made him walk few steps forward. “No, nothing like that, I just asked to see you, I didn’t want-”

“You paid for a bit more than seeing me, Gwilym,” Ben frowned. “But whatever floats your boat.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what?” Ben snapped, got up from the bed and wrapped a sheet around his torso. “There’s nothing we could possibly-“

“Don’t you think you owe me at least that much for the last time?” Gwilym crossed his arms. “You – oh, you threatened me with a gun, forced me to break into a morgue and help you and your Double Q friends, just delightful.”

“So, now you’re here to get even? Suit yourself.”

“No!” 

“So?”

Slowly, Gwilym raised his hands in a gesture of peace and forced himself for long, steady breaths. Ben’s eyes watched him, sharply and carefully.

“I need your help,” Gwilym said finally and looked up to meet Ben’s stare. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Ben blurted out almost immediately and raised his eyebrows when Gwilym’s face remained serious. “Me? And I thought I was the one who reached the grand low of pathetic. But you, mate... you beat me here, fair and square. Why the fuck would I help you? You ruined my life!”

“No, I didn’t!” Gwilym’s face twitched. “How can you- I didn’t do anything!”

“I’m here because of you!” Ben snapped and his fists holding the sheet tightened. “In this fucking hellhole, here, in all that shit, because of you!”

“Everything I’ve done, I did it for you!” Gwilym exclaimed but his voice quivered. “For Queen and for you! And you used to know that! You used to love me.”

Love me...

After a moment of silence, Ben turned his stare aside. “That was a long time ago,” he muttered. 

“Not that long,” Gwilym said softly. “Back then I thought... I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” Ben spat, turning back at him. “That I wasn’t good enough for you anymore, with your new fancy school, your new fancy friends?”

“I had to go there so I could get to politics!” Gwilym waved his arms. “To help Queen and Queenies and-“

“Repeat to me,” Ben interrupted him. His tone was sharp and eyes icy cold. “Repeat what you told me back then.”

“I don’t remember.”

“I think you do.”

Gwilym didn’t argue. “I said...,” he hesitated, “I said that it would be hard because I wasn’t a full Earther. And... that they’d watch me.”

“So?”

“So... so I can’t be seen with a red district Queenie like you anymore.” Gwilym breathed in. “Ben, I know I said that, but you know how I meant it, you must know...”

“You called me a whore,” Ben said shakily, and his face tightened in the memory. “Wording doesn’t matter, that’s what you did, you called me a Queenie whore.” 

“I didn’t mean-“

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” Ben shrieked. “You left me! Do you have any idea how that felt? You, who kept repeating how we change Queen together, who kept talking about how it didn’t matter as long as we... as we...,” he swallowed. “You were the one thing, the last good thing I had. The last thing that made me feel like a real human, someone who matters to others. And you... you took that from me. You ruined me. So, don’t you dare saying you didn’t mean to, because I don’t care.”

They stood silent, looking at each other as if separated by a glass wall. No one dared to step closer. Even the sound of a crowd outside grew more distant. Gwilym swallowed heavily to get the bitterness and salt away from his throat, for his voice to be calm and steady. He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t.

“It would be too much... to ask for forgiveness,” he whispered. “I know. But... please, Ben, hear me out.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Ben wrapped the sheet around him tighter and sat down on the bed. “You were right, after all. I am a Queenie whore and you shouldn’t be seen here. Nothing has changed. So, either take what you paid for or get the fuck out. I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry for today,” Gwilym opted for a small chair by the door instead of joining Ben on the bed. “The fight, I mean and... everything.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably. “You saw that?”

“I did. I... I never imagined it would be so... brutal. But you were fantastic.”

“For real now?” Ben let out an incredulous sound. “I don’t know how much you know about the rules of cage fight, but believe me, getting pissed on while flat on the ground isn’t the goal.”

Gwilym nodded. “I know. But were it me, I’d be pissing myself, and not at the end, but the very beginning.”

Ben chuckled. “Probably.”

Some of the tension between them left, and for a while, they simply sat in silence. Ben even started to be a little sleepy and wondered how big of a deal it would be if he just took a nap. Also... sometimes the clients rang for food to be delivered. Did Gwilym know about the option? Would he... 

“I should tell you why I came here,” Gwilym interrupted Ben’s thoughts and seemingly braced himself. 

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m the only person you trust, for whatever reason?”

“We have common interests, our past aside,” Gwilym said, his back straight. In that moment, he was a politician ready to negotiate. “Today, Warrick carried through his idea of early elections and the government accepted. Two months from now, people will vote and decide the future of Queen.”

“Dobson or Warrick, Warrick or Dobson,” Ben shook his head with a bitter smile. “You know we have our own agenda. Double Q will take over this planet, one day, and I don’t care who we have to defeat in the process.”

“Would you manage in less than two months?” Gwilym countered. “Against the whole Earth’s army? Be real.”

“Why should the two months matter?”

Gwilym got up and stepped closer to Ben. “Because if Warrick becomes the Prime Minister, the Double Q will be over.”

“In your dreams. You think we- “

“I’m serious.” Gwilym jumped in the middle of his sentence. “You have no idea how lenient my grandmother was with everything Double Q ever did. You fight for your rights, believe me, we get it! But the second Warrick gets to her chair, all of this is over! He will destroy you, and when I say “you”, I mean Queenies. You think this is hell? You will see the true hell he will create, he will strip Queenies from everything you managed to keep. Who won’t get killed, will be sent to rhenium mines, forever. All that with Singer’s army behind his back. They’re in it together.”

“Together? Warrick and Singer?” Ben frowned. “But that would be...”

“Corruption? Treason? Disaster?” Gwilym gave him a wry smile. “Make your pick. That’s why we need to stand together in this, make sure the opposition loses. Please, believe me. I did what I did but... I’d never lie to you.”

Ben shifted. “I believe you,” he said after a moment. “But you won’t convince Double Q to work with Dobson, even if against Warrick. That’s impossible.”

“I’m not asking Double Q,” Gwilym said pointedly. “I’m only asking you. Ben Hardy.”

“And what do you think I can do against Warrick? Or Singer?” Ben shook his head. “You’re delusional.”

Gwilym shrugged. “Perhaps. But I ran out of all the good ideas. The opposition is using Double Q’s attacks on May and Taylor to show how dangerous Queenies are, and they will continue. Double Q... you didn’t really blow up the statue, did you?”

Their eyes met.

“Well... not me,” Ben frowned in thought. “I was sent to draw QQ on the wall of the park. I assumed someone else from our guys put the bomb there. This is not a book club, you know? We don’t know each other that well.”

“It was the Opposition, or Singer’s people,” Gwilym nodded. Everything was making way too much sense now. “They also killed Luke Mercury-Deacon, and it was them who beat me up in the hotel.”

“They did what?”

“And they will attack again,” Gwilym ignored the question, trying to get to the point. “And again, as long as it’s working. And it is, Earthers hate Double Q now, and soon they’ll hate all the Queenies and everyone who dares to defend them. So... we need to save May and Taylor.”

“We what?” Ben almost jumped up, stern and incredulous and stared at Gwil as if he was insane. “May and Taylor are the reason Queen’s in such deep shit as it is, I don’t care if Singer kills them, in fact I’ll give him a hand!”

“Didn’t you listen to me?” Gwilym snapped. “Double Q did already enough to help Warrick, don’t make the same mistake! And no matter what you think of May and Taylor – they need our help. They’re not the enemies here, they’re two old men being used for other people’s goals. Their lives are in danger.”

“Well so would be ours if we get between them and Singer!” Ben pointed out. “If it’s as you say, that’s no small thing. We’ll be arrested, killed, and even if not, if they figure what we’re doing – do you seriously think you would keep your job? Your place in the City?”

“Fuck the job.”

“Excuse me?”

Gwilym looked Ben right in the eyes. “I said: Fuck the job, if I haven’t lost it already, I don’t care. We need to do this. And if you’re at least one quarter of the Ben I used to know... then you’ll want to do the right thing. This isn’t politics, this is saving people’s lives.”

Ben hesitated. “Gwilym...”

“At least talk to them,” Gwilym pleaded. “At least that. We’ll go to the hotel, secretly, put together what we know, and we plan. I said it before, I say it again – you’re the one person I can trust, and that’s no exaggeration. I know deep down we want the same thing. This might be just the way.”

“Alright,” Ben hissed and raised his hand in a gesture for Gwilym to shut up. “I go with you.”


	19. Now it's time to dance

“I didn’t even realize how late it is already,” Gwilym said and looked up, as he and Ben walked along the Crescent Street and turned to Croft Lane to get to the Centre where Brian’s and Roger’s hotel stood. They decided against taking Gwil’s car to avoid unnecessary attention from the staff of the hotel’s parking lot. They weren’t doing anything illegal, but it sure felt like it. 

Almira and her ominous red light ruled the sky, and the spaces among tall city blocks darkened.

Ben shrugged, taking a huge bite of a sandwich Gwil had insisted on buying for him. And to be honest, Ben was too hungry to care.

“The fights are always at night,” he said, mouth full of bread and ham. “Kinda the point, easier to sneak in. At least for people who don’t wear a suit. I mean, mate, seriously?”

Gwil frowned and checked his meticulous attire. “What’s wrong with it?” He sounded a bit defensive.

“Sure, nothing,” Ben chuckled and shook his head. “You look like a glorified accountant. But I guess if anyone in the City saw you in jeans, their head would explode.”

“You know what?” Gwil crossed his arms. “When it’s all over, I’ll just walk in a building of your choosing and wear... whatever the hell it is you’re wearing.”

“A hoodie,” Ben said, rolled the paper bag of his sandwich into a tiny ball and put it in his pocket. “And deal. You get your own, man, though, I’m not lending my clothes.”

“Not even as a trade for the suit?”

“Deal.”

“I doubt it’d fit though,” Gwil tugged on his collar as they crossed the road. Despite the late hour it was full of traffic. Even a doughnut shop on the corner seemed open. 

Suddenly, Ben frowned. “What’s that?” he pointed to a large bruise at Gwil’s neck and his eyes darkened. “I mean, I know I wasn’t exactly gentle with you in the morgue, but-“

“Oh, no, no, no,” Gwil interrupted him and quickly shook his head, “you didn’t do that one. It’s the thugs that beat me up this morning, you had been a lamb in comparison. Nine out of ten would surely recommend, I-“

“Warrick’s thugs, huh?” Ben mumbled and gave the bruise one more fleeting glance. “If we find them again, they’ll pay for it. Hard.”

Something in his tone made Gwilym’s stomach tighten. “Thank you....,” he mumbled and quickly looked away to hide his face.

“I mean, beat you up?” Ben flung his arms. “Seriously? Bunch of cowards, all of them, I mean – you’re not the type that’s okay to beat up, I am, that I’d get, but you’re like... this elegant suit-guy. That’s just not okay, mate!”

Gwilym looked back with a raised eyebrow. “So, you’re the type that’s okay to beat up? Seriously?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Gwil insisted and his forehead wrinkled in worry. “It’s not okay, it’s never okay, Ben!”

“Shut up,” Ben shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked somewhere across the road, away from Gwilym. “So... May and Taylor – you really think we can figure out what to do? If it’s all as you say it is.”

Gwilym shook his head at the turn in their conversation but answered anyway. “For now, we just need to lay low,” he said. “The hotel’s just behind the corner, we go there, we put together what we know-“

“Gwil?” Ben stopped him and pointed forward. A large fire truck just passed by the crossroad and headed for the centre.

“Just don’t go...,” Gwilym mumbled, his eyes fixated on the car, “...right.” He finished just when the car did exactly that.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “That’s the street where the hotel is?”

“Come! Hurry!”

Both set off as fast as the crowd let them. They could hear sounds of commotion, people shouting and screaming, and a siren of some other fire truck hidden from their sight. Hotel on fire... Gwilym thought desperately... they’re going to burn, they’re dead, they – 

-“Thank God!” he wheezed when they reached the corner and looked over the scenery. He was positively out of breath. 

Ben gave him an unimpressed look. “Not sure all the people would say that.”

The hotel itself was untouched, but the space in front of it was impenetrably blocked by firemen battling tall, destructive flames coming from the bank just across the street. The air was burning, acrid, chemical infused and choking. The smoke billowed black up to the sky and all the different structures and materials feeding that flame made it burn with colours Gwilym never thought it could. 

“Do you think there was someone in?” Gwilym mumbled. He didn’t know much about fires, but one didn’t have to be an expert to realize that if someone stayed trapped in that building, they... well... didn’t need to be saved anymore.

Ben shook his head. “I hope not. It’s night after all, offices empty. Unless it caught the one who did it.”

“You think-“

“Of course, I think,” Ben scoffed. “It’s arson. Everyone with a functioning brain can see it. You see-”

“I think you might be right,” Gwilym said matter-of-factly and pointed to the clean wall of the hotel. Though... not so clean now. There were black letters QQ sprayed on the sharply white plastering. 

“Son of a bitch! Those bloody fucking bastards, those-“

“So,” Gwil interrupted the string of curses, running quite low on patience, “I suppose that’s not really Double Q’s work?” 

“What? Of course not, why the fuck would we...,” Ben’s voice died out when he glanced at the hotel with new look. “You should check on your pets. If it’s Warrick who had the bank set on fire, I bet my pants that’s not what he’s after. Another attempt? The statue, the restaurant, now this?”

Gwilym frowned in worry. “That doesn’t make any sense!” He looked at the bank, then the hotel, then bank again. “They want to convince people Double Q wants to kill Brian and Roger, why would they set fire to a building across the street? They need them to narrowly survive, not just-”

Ben grabbed his arm. “The fire is a diversion,” he said firmly. “This isn’t an attempt, they mean business. Look over there!”

Three black cars, unnoticed in the commotion, just drove past the hotel and into its underground parking lot. 

Gwilym’s blood turned cold. If Warrick... or Singer... if they found out about the visits at Laura’s and grandma’s... Was the morning beating just a way to tempt them into action? If the opposition thinks Brian and Roger know too much... Oh, God... no...

“There’s a fire escape, there we get in,” Gwilym looked around, “hurry!”

“Hurry-the-fuck-where?” Ben exclaimed. “Didn’t you just see all those thugs? All probably armed, you’re a nutter! The only thing we can do is- Gwilym!” The other man was no longer by his side, but half the way towards the hotel already. Ben sighed. 

“It’s locked!” Ben rattled the heavy metal door. Despite Gwilym’s head start, he got there first, and still felt they were way too slow. By now the thugs surely left their cars and got in.

“Opens from the inside,” Gwilym panted when he joined him few seconds later. “I have-“

“We’re screwed!”

“-I have a key, you tit.” Gwilym slid a plastic card across the reader and the door clicked open. “I got an access to all the doors and whatnot when I got in charge of Brian and Roger. Come, hurry!”

The service corridor was grey and empty, with several door to maintenance cabinets and steep metal stairs.

“They’re in the sixth floor,” Gwilym announced, looking up the stairs. “With some luck we get up and down just in time.”

“Are you kidding me? There are elevators from the parking lot, of course we’ll be late!”

“Would you calm the fuck down, I’ve got a plan!”

Ignoring Ben’s distrust Gwilym looked over the corridor until he found what he searched for – the fuse box. Unlocked. All it took was pulling one little lever for the whole place to go dark.

Red emergency lights switched on, pointing to a nearest exit.

“We can go,” Gwilym banged the box shut. “It’ll take a while for the staff to turn it back on, with any luck we trapped the thugs in the elevator. Might buy us few minutes.”

Ben tilted his head in reluctant admiration. “Is that what they teach you in Earth schools?”

“I have it from Belle, actually,” Gwilym shrugged. “Power outage, few years back, she made like three-hour lecture on electric circuits.”

“I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You know what, I did. Come on, we need to move.”

Without further talk, they set off up the narrow staircase, taking two steps at a time. First floor... second... third... fourth...  
... with a soft hum the power went back on, flooding everything in light.

Ben cursed.

“Hurry!”

On the sixth floor, Gwilym nearly tore the door from its hinges. Both he and Ben stumbled out on the hotel’s corridor, just when the elevator opened as well. For a second, they stood face to face with four men in black suits and bandanas covering their faces in Double Q style.

“Fuck...,” Ben muttered. “We should- DOWN!” he shrieked and pushed Gwilym out of the way when a bullet flew right past them and drilled a hole in the metal door.

Gwilym had to grab a wall to keep steady. Ben already ran forth with a suicidal spark, tackled the shooter and twisted the gun from his hand. Another thug jumped to his mate’s aid, wrapping his arm under Ben’s neck. Gwilym ran to help, but there was the third assassin coming straight at him. He managed to dodge the first two punches, but then, having no idea about this kind of brawls, Gwil jumped at the man, clinging to him like a koala. Despite the kicks and punches, he didn’t let go. 

In the meantime, on the floor Ben knocked his man unconscious and rolled over to deal with the other one. His teeth gritted. The thugs were good, he had to admit. But not as good as him. As Ben cracked his opponents head against the wall, he couldn’t but smile about how this wasn’t a night of losses after all.   
Quickly, he scrambled on his feet and swiftly dealt with Gwilym’s situation too. They won this round.

“The fourth one got away!” Ben wheezed. “Which room?”

Gwilym paled. “Six hundred thirteen! Run!”

They raced as if their lives depended on it, over the long corridor and to the left, just to see the last thug kick a door open.

“FUCK!” Gwilym was there in a second. Sound of a single gunshot filled the air.

Ben froze.

The man in black suit and bandana swayed and his body hit the ground with a heavy, muffled bang. He did hold a gun of his own, but the shot came from Gwilym.

“You stole their revolver?” Ben exclaimed. “Really?”

“You smashed their heads open, you don’t exactly have the moral high ground here!” Gwilym waved his arms.

Roger was standing on the doorstep, dressed in pyjamas and bathrobe, his eyes flicking between the young men and the corpse at his feet.

“What the flying fuck, Gwilym?”

“Let us in and get dressed, we need to go,” Gwilym said shortly, “it’s not safe here.”

“I figured,” Roger muttered and stepped back, so the two young men could follow. Ben grabbed the dead assassin by his ankles and dragged him in so the door would close.

“They’re Singer’s men,” Gwilym explained when he noticed Roger’s raised eyebrow. “He and Warrick wanted to use you to manipulate people into voting for them. But now they guessed we knew, and they want you dead! They’re trying to kill you and-” His eyes flickered around the room. “Where’s Brian?”

Roger was alone.

“He hasn’t yet returned,” Roger folded his arms on his chest and looked away, “and he won’t pick up his phone – and God, I wish he wasn’t pulling stunts like this so often, I’d get worried way sooner. Fuck. We need to find him, quickly.”

“We will,” Gwilym promised while Ben let out a disdainful snort.

“Well, that’s just awesome.”

Roger’s blue eyes measured him head to toe. “And who are you?” he asked coldly. 

“Someone saving the back of Queen’s traitor and losing time as we speak,” Ben snapped. “They’ll realize what happened and send reinforcements, we need to move and hide, so forgive me for the lack of enthusiasm that we need to search for yet another grandpa.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is Ben Hardy,” Gwilym said quickly in case Ben was going to retort. “He’s helping us.”

“Is he? The Ben Hardy who used a gun to force you break into a morgue for Double Q? The Ben Hardy?”

“You told them?” Ben looked incredulous. “Why the fuck-“

“Damn right he did and let me-“

“Enough!” Gwilym interrupted them both. And just to be sure, he stepped forward, right in between them. “This isn’t the time or place. Ben’s right, Roger, you need to get dressed and ready to leave, asap. Then we split. Ben then takes you to safety while I go find Brian. He’ll be fine.”

“Why do I have to babysit?” Ben snapped.

Gwilym glared. “Because you know places to hide, you are the professional wrestler and I’m the one still holding a gun, so it will be so, because I say so, understood?”

“Keep that dominant streak, mate, kinda hot.”

“Shut up!”

“Alright,” Roger returned from the wardrobe dressed in simple shirt and trousers, putting on a coat. “We can go. Did you see anyone on the way here?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Ben said. 

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Gwilym squatted on the floor, unwrapped the bandana from the dead man’s head and arranged it around his own. “I’ll try and sneak out by the main corridor. Even if more of the bad guys see me, it won’t be too suspicious, and anyway, they’ll be mostly looking for you. Take care.”

“We will,” Ben promised.

“Maybe he stayed at Laura’s,” Roger suggested and tried to hide the tightness of his throat. “Or there’s a traffic jam on the way or...”

“I’ll find him,” Gwilym promised. “Where do we meet afterwards? Ben?”

“Just get somewhere safe, I’ll find you.” Ben walked over to the door and opened it for a bit. “All clear. We should go. Good luck.”

“You too,” Gwilym nodded, and with one more glance back he sneaked out of the room. Ben and Roger followed and headed the opposite direction.


	20. Out of their bodies, onto the ground

“All clear,” Ben glanced back at Roger, who held himself right behind him. 

The corridors of the hotel were quiet. Eerily so, except for silent moans of the two thugs taken down on the way there. As they walked by, Ben picked up one of their weapons for himself and raised an eyebrow when Roger did the same.

The older man seemed determined. “I suppose...,” he looked at Ben with a quietly doubtful question, “you didn’t go as far as actually making a plan?”

Ben frowned. “Did you?”

“My favourite then.”

“Listen, Santa,” Ben turned on his heel to face his charge and poked in his chest, “I didn’t really ask for this, let’s make it absolutely clear between us. I’m a Queenie, I’ve been one my whole life. I work for Double Q. I work for Queen. I don’t owe any favours to Gwilym and certainly not to you. This is just a twisted turn of events, so you do exactly as I say and keep close, because I swear I don’t have a problem to drop you in a nearest dumpster.”

“Delightful,” Roger stretched his shoulders and returned Ben’s glare, “we’re gonna get out of here or what?”

Ben turned back to assess the corridor. There were elevators and then the fire escape he and Gwil had used but...

“Can you handle some stairs?” 

Roger rather bit his tongue and answered with a sharp nod. Quickly, they headed to the fire escape and just opened the door when the elevator clanged again.

“Run!” Ben exclaimed and pushed Roger ahead when two new assassins spotted them immediately. 

“Quickly, over there!”

Ben banged the door shut and turned the key. That’d hold them, at least for a bit. He grabbed Roger’s sleeve and tugged to rush him to get moving, but Roger tore himself from the grip.

“We need to go up!”

“Are you f-“

But the older man was already half his way up the first staircase. Suddenly, Ben understood and followed. 

From the landing of the fourth floor they listened how the thugs banged the locked door open and set off down the stairs. Their steps were becoming quieter.

“Fuck, that was close...,” Ben breathed. “We need to get down to the exit and disappear in the streets. There’s the same staircase at the other side of the floor.”

Roger nodded, so both men sneaked out back on the corridor. Ben did his best not to jump up when a cleaner unexpectedly walked from one of the many doors. His heart was beating way up high in his throat.

Their luck lasted all the way through the floor and down the staircase until they emerged not outside of the hotel but in the underground parking lot. Four more of Warrick’s men were waiting for their colleagues by their cars. 

They noticed them immediately.

“Down!” Roger screamed just when the first wave of bullets hit the door behind them with a metal clang. 

Ben cursed, dragged Roger behind the nearest car and fired back. Sounds of shooting echoed through the underground space. The result was deafening. From outside, they could hear a sudden wail of a siren.

“Police!” Ben gasped and quickly ducked to avoid another shot. The thugs were getting closer. He tried to fire back to hold them, but the gun let out nothing but a weak click. “Out of bullets! Your gun, Roger- what the fuck, give me your gun, I need-”

Roger hadn’t even tried to return fire since they got there. Instead, laid on his stomach, he was half through the open front door of the car they had hid behind, fidgeting with something under the driver’s dashboard.

Ben stared just for a second, then simply grabbed Roger’s gun and fired, managing to hit one of their attackers in the leg. The result surprised him, because honestly, despite his Double Q activities, he didn’t have many experiences with guns.

At that moment, the car’s motor woke up and Roger climbed to the driver’s seat.

“What-“

“You coming or what, quick!” 

The glass of the backdoor window exploded, and Ben postponed all the questions for later. Quickly, he jumped on board.   
Roger stepped on it, going from zero to fifty within seconds, and passed their attackers by with a skid. Ben strapped himself and closed his eyes shut. In rocket speed they shot out of the parking lot and passed the wailing police car outside, heading among the traffic.

“Fine, now pull over somewhere and we switch!” Ben didn’t feel safe in the backseat or with Roger behind the wheel, honestly.

“Switch?”

“Yeah, switch!”

“You really think we have a time for that? Look back, genius!”

Just several cars behind them there was police with sirens on and wailing, closely followed by Warrick’s men in their black sedan. Ben’s stomach jumped when Roger raced through the red lights and zigzagged through traffic. Angry honks and siren followed them.

Ben didn’t even realize he screamed. From as far as he could see, they now went from fifty to seventy per hour. In the centre. 

Roger’s breath came in small spurts, hot and nervous. On the stirring wheel, his fingers curled into sweaty fists, pressing tightly as if that would make them faster.   
They could hear their chasers along with all the panicked noises from the streets. 

“Please God, let me live,” Ben whispered. Sweat dripped from his unkempt hair. From all the ways he imagined himself to die, getting smashed against some wall during car accident wasn’t in his top ten. Not even in top twenty. Where is Gwilym’s “let’s simply talk” now, hm? And where is... Ben gulped... where is Gwilym? He just hoped searching for Brian didn’t involve getting driven through the streets by a seventy-something maniac while chased by professional killers and hands of the law.  
He didn’t even notice that thanks to Roger’s lack of self-preservation, their distance widened.

“Where to now, kid?” Roger shouted.

That snapped Ben back to presence. “Along the main street and to the right, we’ll get lost in the old town!”

At least he hoped.

Roger followed the directions and soon the glamour and cleanliness of the Centre got exchanged by narrower and more neglected streets. Their twists and turns meant their pursuers lost the sight of them though neither Ben nor Roger doubted the danger was still close.

They flew through yet another short alley and Ben nearly hit his head against the broken window when he got an idea. 

“That block of flats over there, pull over!” he shouted.

“What?”

“Got a plan, pull over, get out and hide, trust me!”

For a full second, Ben was convinced Roger would just ignore him and they would just keep racing through the streets forever. But then he hit the brakes and they stopped with a screech.

“Hide and wait!” Ben mercilessly pushed Roger out of the car and climbed at the driver’s seat. 

Roger just managed to back up to the shadow of the nearest entrance when the car shot forward and their chasers emerged from behind the corner, following it.  
In a matter of seconds, they were gone, Ben, the thugs, the police. 

He was alone.

Sun never sets on Queen, Roger recalled an old saying, as he watched the sky lit red by the light of Almira. It should feel like home, shouldn’t it? He grew up used to it, so much so that he and Brian had a red nightlight installed so Roger could get a better sleep.   
Why did it feel so unsettling then? Even ominous? He bit his lip when he realized what he’d be willing to give right now just for a peak of starry night sky. Or at least for a peak on the certain someone he’d always watched the stars with. Brian... 

The street he found himself on wasn’t very big or tidy, it was lined with neglected, old blocks of flats just like the one behind him. No street name, no numbers, only dust, garbage and falling plastering. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know for how long this was going to last or what to do...   
Roger tried to will his knees to stop shaking and leaned against the cold wall. During the action he didn’t think about his predicament, there was no time, but now... He felt tired, weak and shaken. Am I really getting too old for this? Roger recalled all those blissful evenings on Earth when he and Brian just sat down on the porch, each with the favourite book or a cup of tea. No danger, no nameless assassins, no... no dead friends... Roger swallowed. I am getting too old for this.

The silence of that street was deafening. Nobody living in near proximity was rich enough to own a car, and those several pedestrians going after their business didn’t make much noise. No sign of danger, but also no sign of Ben, and Roger found himself waiting for him almost longingly. Not because he was worried something could happen to him, no, it was purely because his legs hurt, he was tired and not used to long standing. 

How long was it now? An hour? I might just as well be.

What if he’s dead? Or what if they caught him? Roger had no doubt the men in black had their methods how to make person talk. Ben would surely tell them where he left Roger, sooner or later. And he’s standing there like an idiot, waiting to be found. But what to do? Just trying to think was making his head ache. He wasn’t just getting too old for this – he was old. Roger never liked to admit that, but he also never felt it as strongly as in that moment. Slowly... slowly he closed his eyes, just letting the dirty wall cool him. What to do...

“It IS you!”

Young cheery voice interrupted his slumber and Roger almost jumped up, eyes shot open. Not Ben, but not any of the thugs either. There was a young man, almost a boy, red-haired and bright-eyed. And just like the last time they saw each other, he was wearing a soiled crop top and miniskirt. 

“Joe!” Roger’s eyes widened and he blinked, just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. “Aren’t you- you-“

“You do remember me!” Joe looked excited. “You took me to your car and had me show you the old town and Cool Cat and Adam Lambert, remember? You do remember!”

“Of course, I remember,” Roger gestured to Joe to speak quieter. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Joe waved his hands. “It’s the middle of the night! More like what are you doing, I live here!” He pointed to the house behind them. “Ben and I moved here ages ago.”

“Ben? Tall, blond, shoulders from wall to wall?”

Joe frowned and Roger could see a small shadow of worry. He understood. 

“Yeah...,” Joe said slowly, his eyes fixated on Roger. “Sounds about right. How do you know him? What do you want?”

Here it was Roger who hesitated. He didn’t know how much Ben’s flatmate or boyfriend or whatever knew about the whole situation, hell, even Roger himself wasn’t all that sure he understood. 

“I’m supposed to meet with him here,” he explained.

Joe didn’t look convinced. “Why?”

Roger shifted his weight from foot to foot and swallowed. “We’re... I am... on a run from Warrick’s men,” he said, “and I... I don’t really have elsewhere to go. Please? Look, I can pay you-” Roger reached for the wallet he’d grabbed in the hotel room, but the boy stopped his hand.

“Hey, take it easy.” Joe smiled a bit. “My ass is the only thing I’m selling. Help is free.”

“We live in the top floor,” Joe announced as they slowly walked up the stairs. Roger only grunted, cursing his knees.

“How many floors are there?”

“Six.”

When they finally made it all the way up, Roger felt like falling apart into a pile of painful pieces of misery and was only glad that the screeching of old stairs and wobbly floors hid his own laboured breath. 

The electric light illuminating the corridor flickered.

“It’s nothing like what you’re used to,” Joe apologised when unlocking the door, “but...”

“You’re letting me in your home, Joe, and I appreciate it,” Roger said quietly. Joe gave him a shy smile when their eyes met.

“Still...”

The door made a sound when opened, hinges old and unoiled. And... true, it wasn’t anything like what Roger was used to. In fact, it couldn’t be further from the pompous luxury of the hotel in the Centre or Brian and Roger’s own home on Earth.  
The apartment consisted of one cramped room. Withering floor squeaked and plastering slowly falling down from the dirty walls uncovered electric wires running towards their only lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

“Sorry for the draught,” Joe mumbled and closed the door behind them. “It’s still coming from somewhere and for the love of God we can’t figure-“

“Thank you,” Roger reached for the younger man’s hand and took it firmly. “Thank you.”

“Eh...,” Joe blinked. “Yes... then... want to sit? I mean, we have the mattress, but I can run downstairs, borrow a chair from Mrs.Packington.”

“It should be fine...,” Roger shook his head and with the help of the wall he sat down. He doubted he’d be able to get up any time soon, but the relief was immense.

“Are you hungry?” Joe asked. “I bought some alga for me and Ben, we can split it in three.”

“No, thank you.”

Roger closed his eyes as the events of the evening started to catch up with him fully. Brian... 

“Are you alright?” Joe sat down by him. The mattress squeaked and Roger could hear the frown in the young voice.

“Just a headache.”

“Here, lie down, let me help.” Before he could say something, Joe gently pushed him to lie down and placed his warm hands on his temples. “Think of something nice.”

Suddenly, they both heard sudden steps and a squeak of opening door.

“Ben!” Joe jumped up with a smile and dragged his friend in. “I was worried! Look, this is the guy who took me to see Adam Lambert, you know, the one who gave us all the money!”

Roger opened his eyes to meet Ben’s blank stare. The younger man seemed a bit dishevelled but unharmed.

“That guy?” Ben blinked and gestured to the mattress. “This guy?”

Joe frowned. “Yeah. What’s this about?”

Roger and Ben exchanged one more stare.   
“Ehm...”

It’s been an hour and honestly, Gwil was getting desperate. After he’d ran out of the hotel, he caught a taxi and headed to Laura Mercury-Deacon only to be told that Brian had left long ago. And no, she had no idea where he went. 

One short phone call to Anita uncovered he wasn’t at her place either.

“Gwilym, talk to me, what’s going on?” Anita demanded. “Whatever you’re doing-“

“Not now, grandma,” Gwilym mumbled and threw the phone on the seat next to him. The red light of night seemed even more ominous than ever. He had to hurry he knew that. If only he knew... Quick, Lee, think, if you were Brian May, where would you go? 

He could only assume Brian had learned from Laura more or less the same as he and Roger from Anita.

If you were Brian May... coming back to Queen... and learned your friends were dead... the ones you searched for... the ones you hoped to rebuild this whole planet with...

Gwilym blinked upon sudden idea. “To May’s Park, please!” 

His thought were blank.  
What a strange occurrence. Brian shook his head. Normally his thoughts were twisting and turning, suffocating him with their whispers. And now... nothing.  
Deaky... Freddie...  
He watched the green grass and whispering trees of May’s Park, lost deep in his silenced, non-existent thoughts. This was what they dreamed of, wasn’t it? Planet Queen, all green and alive, full of joy and children. So why... Where did it go so wrong? 

Did you know, Deaky? Surely you did, you always did. And even then, you were unable to stop it. What chance do we have? Is there any?

Brian closed his eyes, letting the cold breeze ruffle his white hair. Funny how the small things never change. Touch of wind, sound of grass... why can’t everything be like that? Peaceful and calm... he was tired. What time was it again?

“Brian!”

The wind brought a quiet voice calling him. Brian turned around.

“Brian!”

Gwilym was running as fast as he could, jumping over the flowerbeds and decorative stones. He looked stressed and... frightened.

“Gwilym? What’s going- oh!“ Before he could even finish, Gwilym just leaped towards him, tackling him to the ground.

The grass was soft, but it hurt anyway. Brian hissed at his aching back and shook his head, trying to identify the sharp sound that accompanied their fall.

“Gwilym,” he wheezed, “what the hell...”

Their eyes met when the young man heaved himself from the ground on all fours. Something was wrong.

“Brian...,” Gwilym's face contorted in pain. Whiteness of his shirt was stained bright red. There were some people in the background screaming and shouting, calling for police or running towards them, but Brian didn't pay attention to any of it, paralysed with shock.

“You...,” Gwilym whispered through a painful gasp, “you need t...” His eyes fluttered shut as he fell on the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> So, guess what, lovies? Here we go again! And remember - you asked for it *winky wink*. Please, let me know all your thoughts, predictions and suggestions in the comments, I live for them and they keep me going.


End file.
